Evidence
by Sabari
Summary: A rash of calves slain by wolves on Ponderosa land provokes a hunt for the killers; but Candy suspects there is more to the killings than it first appears...
1. of Conflict

**"Not everything that is gray is a wolf."**  
 **-Russian Proverb**

* * *

"Damned wolves!" Randal Lowe cried, angrily jerking his horse to a stop, dismounting and hurrying to where the slain calf lay bloodied and torn on the ground.

Hoss Cartwright and Candy reined their horses to a stop and also dismounted. Hoss joined Randal, looking over the calf with clear dismay, but Candy did not approach the carcass. Instead he followed the wandering tracks around the kill. Cattle tracks were abundant, but they were overlaid by marks made by something with paws. Actually two somethings, Candy suspected, of roughly the same size.

"Seems like they know the best calves and take the best pieces," Hoss muttered in frustration, "An' just up and leave the rest to waste."

"At least a poacher would take the hide instead of just ripping it to shreds," Randal agreed.

Candy made no response to either of them, continuing to follow the haphazard, meandering paw prints. He'd already seen slain calves on previous days, he knew there was nothing more to learn from the remains, and there would be little that could be salvaged. The tracks, however, continued to interest and puzzle him, as they had done at previous kill sites.

"What worries me is how they're gettin' through," Hoss remarked, "We've got men roamin' the area, settin' campfires at night, but it seems like there's been more killin' than when this started."

"Wolves have got more cunning and tricks in their heads than even Candy does," Randal said, nodding towards where Candy was still retracing the steps of one of the killers, "Look at him, even the great tracker himself can't figure 'em."

Candy ignored Randal's rather mocking tone. Randal had had it out for him every since he joined on, and they'd had more than one brawl after having had a few too many in a bar. If they hadn't both been working for Ben Cartwright, it would've been much easier for them to avoid one another. But having the same employer, it was impossible. Ben had advised them to try ignoring each other, but that was easier said than done.

"Following the tracks is the easy part," Candy remarked, crouching down to get a better look at a particular mark on the ground, "Figuring the mind of the critter that made 'em is the hard part."

"What's to figure?" Randal asked, "They're _wolves_ , Candy. They hunt, they kill, they eat. They bite, they maul, they tear. What's the mystery, aside from how they're getting past us?"

"If they're really wolves, for starters," Candy answered mildly.

"They're too big to be coyotes," Hoss, not a bad tracker himself, pointed out.

"That's true," Candy said.

"Then what else would they be?" Randal asked, "Ghosts?"

"Maybe," Candy replied, mainly because he knew that response would annoy Randal.

Hoss frowned. It bothered him that the two ranch hands seemed incapable of being civil to each other even now, when there should be something bothering them a great deal more than personality conflicts. But what bothered him more was the tone of voice Candy was using. It was the one he used when he felt that he knew something that the other people around him didn't. Thing was, he was usually right.

Hoss got up, leaving the slain calf to come and look at the tracks with Candy. They looked like wolf tracks to him, certainly they belonged to some sort of wolf-like animal. No bobcat or cougar made tracks like that, and they were definitely too big for a coyote.

"Look like normal tracks to me," Hoss ventured gently, glancing at Candy.

"Do they?" Candy inquired mildly.

"Cut the bull," Randal snapped, "If you know something we don't, just say it. Otherwise, shut up."

"Last I checked, I don't work for you, boy," Candy remarked, peering up at Randal from under the brim of his hat, a challenging look in his blue eyes.

"Why you-"

Hoss intervened before Randal could finish the sentence.

"Stop it! Both of ya," Hoss said, very nearly shouting as he intercepted Randal to stop the fight before it started, "Settle down," he shoved Randal back, "You're worse'n a coupla bobcats fightin'," he glared at first one man and then the other, "But near as I can figure, there ain't nothin' wrong with either of ya other than burnin' tempers and tongues quicker'n your brains."

Candy had risen to his feet when Randal started to go for him. Even though Hoss stood firmly planted between the two, and he could probably take them one over each shoulder and carry them to the nearest woodshed if need be, Candy kept both eyes on Randal.

"I don't think those are wolf tracks," Candy said, glancing briefly at Hoss before returning his steady glare to Randal, "I think they belong to dogs."

"Dogs?" Randal scoffed, rolling his eyes, "Now I've heard everything. We've got a pack of wolves killing cattle by the dozen, and he wants us to chase dogs."

"I didn't say anything about chasing dogs," Candy replied, "And two animals is hardly a pack."

"Come again?" Randal snapped.

"Before you went to stomping all over them, there were two distinct sets of tracks," Candy said, and Randal made a half-hearted attempt to get around Hoss and at Candy, "Only two. Not four, not six, not even three. Two."

"So it's a pair of wolves, like that makes a difference," Randal grumbled.

"Except that I don't think it _was_ wolves," Candy persisted.

"Are you listening to this?" Randal asked Hoss.

Hoss hesitated. He didn't want to be choosing sides with these two, they were liable to see it as favoritism and take it to heart, no matter how well reasoned he was about it. It also happened that Candy's hunches tended to be right more often than not; the man had an instinct when it came to trouble and bad news, he just naturally seemed to know what it was and what it meant almost before anyone else knew it was there at all. He'd been the first to suspect a missing calf had been killed, and he'd been the one to find it dead, following some hunch as to where it had wandered off to. But Randal was right: this notion sounded pretty far-fetched. Wolves were killers of cattle, dogs were protectors of the land and livestock of man.

"Now, Candy," Hoss said finally, in a soothing voice, "You know there ain't a sure-fire way to tell a dog's track from a wolf's. You gotta go with what's most likely."

It was true that there were typically minor differences in paw pad shape, stride length and gait that could give away a dog or wolf track, but none of them were infallible, and many was the dog who'd been shot because he was mistaken for a wolf at a distance due to the tracks he'd left.

"And what's most likely?" Candy asked, "Cattle were all over here last night, but there's no sign of them running, like if they'd scented or seen a wolf, or if a wolf went on the attack. But any heifer can tell a wolf from a dog at a blink. Since we don't use dogs here on the Ponderosa, the cattle aren't dog-broke, and they probably wouldn't even think to move away from a dog, much less run from it."

"Maybe the calf got separated and came here looking for the others, who'd already gone," Randal suggested, quite reasonably Hoss thought.

"Sure," Candy nodded agreeably, "But what about the pattern of the tracks?"

"Pattern?" Randal inquired.

"Wandering, all over the place. The tracks they left both coming and going show two animals weaving back and forth almost aimlessly, sometimes crossing paths or traveling side by side briefly, but never one after the other."

"So what?" Randal asked.

"As a rule, wolves don't wander. They go straight and true to their destination, they move together when they're hunting, and travel single file."

"In the winter when there's snow, sure," Hoss said, "But the snow's melted."

Wolves seemed to travel single file in winter for the same reason most animals and even people did; so one could break trail and the others conserve their energy by using that trail. But in the warmer months, there was no reason for them to do that so far as Hoss knew.

"Okay, but what about the fact that the Ponderosa is the only ranch bein' hit?" Candy asked.

"The hunting's good here," Randal exploded angrily, "They make a kill almost every night. They've got no reason to go anywhere else as long as they're eating well here."

"Granted," Candy said, "And I'll also grant you that wolves eat the best parts first and then come back later for the rest, but we've never left a calf for later."

"We wanna get rid of 'em, Candy," Hoss reminded him, "Not attract 'em."

Candy nodded, "I know that. I'm just saying, we don't know if they would come back. If they wouldn't, even to see if the area was deserted and it was safe to feed, then it's probably not wolves. And if they would, it'd be one way of trying to catch them."

"Aw, Candy," Hoss sighed, "Why didn't you say you had an idea like that to begin with? 'course it makes sense to leave bait for 'em, I shoulda thought of it myself."

"You'll never catch them that way," Randal asserted, "They'll smell that we're still here from a mile away, and we'll never see so much as a tuft of gray fur."

"Yeah, maybe," Candy said.

"Which means that it won't do anything for your ridiculous dog theory if they don't show," Randal said triumphantly, but Candy didn't appear disturbed in the least.

"Except for another piece of evidence saying it's not wolves," Candy pointed out.

"Circumstantial evidence at best," Randal said, "And only a scrap of it at that."

"Maybe so," Candy replied with an agreeable grin that didn't reach his eyes, "But if you get enough table scraps, you can still make a meal."

* * *

Ben wasn't happy to hear another of his calves had been killed in the night, despite having men posted on watch in the area. He was even less thrilled by Hoss' report about Randal and Candy.

"Pa, I hate to say it, but sooner or later we're gonna have to do something about those two," Joe said, present for the report and having brought one of his own that the area he'd checked hadn't been disturbed, "Seems like we can't keep them far enough apart on the ranch."

"I'm with Joe on this one," Hoss agreed, "They start to spittin' and fightin' the second they lay eyes on each other. Randal about clobbered Candy out there this mornin', an' I'd lay money Candy was provokin' him on purpose," he shook his head wearily.

"And what happens when nobody's there to stop their fighting?" Joe asked, "They hate each other, and sooner or later one of them's gonna be out for real blood."

"What do you suggest I do?" Ben wanted to know, "They're both hard workers, they're honest, they're good at their jobs, eager to learn any skill they haven't already got..." he raised his hands.

"Candy's been working for us longer," Joe said, "And he's done things for us that money couldn't buy."

"He's also the one who does most of the pushin'," Hoss countered, "An' he always seems to come off better when they get goin' to at it in saloons."

"So he's the better fighter," Joe spat, "That's not a crime."

"What are you doin' on his side anyway?" Hoss demanded, "You'd take any excuse to kill wolves."

"That's not true!" Joe protested hotly, "And anyway, that's got nothing to do with it."

"Boys!" Ben cried, "Please. There's quite enough bad blood already, I don't need you two squabbling to boot. If that starts, I'll just have to fire both of them."

"What?!" Joe exclaimed, as Hoss shouted, "Why!?"

"Because, all other things being equal, they're causing chaos in my family. Both of them. It's only fair that both of them pay for it if it comes to that," Ben said, then sighed, "Now, are you two prepared to behave like grown men and keep your disagreements civil?"

Joe and Hoss glanced at each other warily, then both bent their heads shamefully.

"Sorry, Pa," Joe said.

"Sorry, Pa," Hoss echoed.

"That's better," Ben said, leaning back in his chair, "Now, as of yet, I'm not ready to fire either of them. I kept you three boys from tearing each other limb from limb, so I think I have enough experience to tell when things have reached the point of no return."

"But, Pa," Joe protested, "We're brothers."

"Yes well, you'd hardly know it, the way you three fought. Especially you, Joe, and Adam. Like cats and dogs, you two, and Hoss in the middle, trying not to take sides... except when he did take sides, usually while one or the other of you wasn't looking."

"Maybe so," Hoss admitted, "But Candy's always lookin'."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Joe snapped.

"It means he's spent so much time in enemy territory that maybe he don't know friend from foe and sets himself against people without a good reason," Hoss answered.

"C'mon, Hoss, you don't really believe that, do you?" Joe asked, "What's he got to do to prove himself to you?"

"What's Randal got to do?" Hoss shot back, "We've known him longer'n we've known Candy, and at least we've got some idea where he comes from."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Joe asked.

"Boys," Ben interrupted, "I think you're forgetting our current problem."

They both looked his way, but said nothing.

"Our calves. The ones that are being slaughtered almost by the dozen. If the killings keep up as they have been the last couple of weeks, we won't have any calves left. Now, I'll admit the problems between Candy and Randal are serious, but not half so serious as losing the entirety of this year's calves," he gazed intently at first one son and then the other, then said, "Agreed?"

Joe sighed unhappily, "Yeah, Pa."

"Sure, Pa," Hoss nodded, looking a little sheepish.

"Good," Ben said, "Now... see if you can't find some work to do around here, instead of butting heads."

The boys left, and Ben let out another weary sigh.

It seemed that, if there was more than one side to an issue, his boys would somehow find a way to be on opposite sides of it. It was like they were driven to disagree with each other. And -once they found something to argue over- they would keep at it like dogs fighting over a bone. There'd be no end in sight for awhile, and that did not bode well for the Randal/Candy situation. Once the boys took sides, their egos got involved and sometimes got in the way of their thinking... and their consciences. Candy and Randal didn't need any more fuel for their particular fire.

In fact, it would be far easier to simply fire them both, but Ben just couldn't see his way clear to doing that. Randal was the son of Edward Lowe, a long-time friend of the Cartwrights, and Ben in particular. The boy was young, but he was sharp, and almost as close as family. Candy, on the other hand, was a recent acquaintance, and had come into the lives of the Cartwrights as something of a wild card. Joe had taken to Candy almost immediately, more time had been needed for Ben to warm up to him. Candy hadn't worked for the Cartwrights very long, but he had already gone above and beyond the call of duty more than once to show that he stood by them. He was loyal and brave, and that was something that -as Joe had emphatically stated- money couldn't buy. Joe had also pointed out the fact that Candy had been working for them longer, albeit only by a few months. Candy was also a few years older than Randal, which made him more experienced and mature... in theory.

But the real prickly part of the matter, even aside from the fact that they had both individually shown themselves to be fine ranch hands and decent men, was that Randal was the son of a friend on one hand, but on the other Ben knew -even though it was never said- that Candy had no place else to go, whereas Randal could always go back to his father if he needed to.

As for the matter of wolves, Ben sincerely hoped Candy was chasing wild geese. Bad enough that wolves were killing livestock. Dogs would make it an entirely different sort of a problem. If they were feral, they still would lack the fear of humans that wolves had, and would dare to come much closer to men. If they had a master, the question then would become whether the animals were slipping away to commit their crimes, or if their master was complicit. If the former was the case, convincing the owner that the dogs were killers would be no small task. If the latter, it meant someone was intentionally using dogs to attack Ben's herd. And that would beg the question: why? Ben didn't like mysteries of that sort.

He vastly preferred the idea of wolves, even though Joe had once been mauled by one. The fact was, the boys had been chasing it at the time, which meant it was provoked. And besides, it was only once. Joe, and indeed all of the Cartwrights, had come near death many more times at the hands of men than the teeth of wolves, and it usually cost more in the long run to stop wicked and evil men than it did to stop cattle killing wolves, and not in money.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note:_** ** _ ** _This story is completely written. I will be uploading one chapter per day. It is potentially slightly AU, but not on purpose. It does not especially matter, but the story was intended to be set in season 9, prior to the episode "The Crime of Johnny Mule" (the twelfth episode Candy appeared in).  
_**_**

 ** _ ** _This is my very first -and possibly only- attempt at a mystery ever. You've been warned._**_**

 _ **Some of the things talked about in this story are based on fact, some on beliefs of the time that were later proven to be myth, some on TV facts (ie things presented as factual in the show, but which are, in fact, complete fabrications) and some is just bull to make the story go. Assume nothing and do your research if you're interested. Or not if you aren't. In any case, I hope you enjoy the story.**_


	2. of Intrusion

With Hoss' permission, rather than go back to the ranch, Candy rode on, following the tracks the calf killers had left behind. He couldn't seem to find the trail which would lead to where they started from, but he could find one to where they'd been going last night once they left the calf.

Candy had no love for wolves. Fact was, he'd hunted them a time or two, both as a hired hand and as a bounty hunter. And he wasn't eager to follow the tracks just to prove Randal wrong either, even though that would be enormously satisfying. No, his reason for what he did now was very simple: he wanted to find the calf killers, and stop them. While he had at first assumed it was wolves, evidence was mounting to suggest it wasn't, and it was clear to him that both Randal and the Cartwrights were too prejudiced against wolves to look for any other suspects.

When he'd heard that Joe had once been mauled by a wolf, it suddenly made more sense. Ranchers always hated wolves, and not without reason. Wolves were death on cattle, horses, sheep and even chickens. But to really close a man's mind to the possibility of a wolf's innocence, all you had to do was show him someone that had been mauled by one. Candy had seen such a victim of mauling before, when he was working for a sheep rancher in Texas. A young shepherd boy had been mauled by a rabid wolf, which had bitten him on the face, arms and chest. Its teeth had cut deep, but the real damage was in the strength of its jaws, which had the power to break bone. The boy had died as a result of his wounds, and Candy had joined the hunting posse going after the animal. When it was eventually brought to bay, it had turned on its hunters, managing to unseat several from their horses, which resulted in them being injured, one man being trampled by his own fleeing mount and a second one having his throat ripped out by the wolf itself before it was finally shot to death.

Any sympathy Candy might have had for wolves had died that day along with those men. Even though the wolf was later pronounced to be rabid, the fact was that it was a terrifyingly effective killer, not only of sheep but also of men. And that was one wolf alone. Most wolves traveled in packs. But the most frightening thing about the wolf was how very dog-like it had appeared. Anyone not looking for it might have mistaken the buff colored animal for a dog. It wasn't as big as wolves were often said to be either. Half-starved due to disease, it was difficult to say how much it would have weighed had it been healthy, but Candy's best guess was only about sixty or seventy pounds. Less than half the weight of a grown man at its peak, weakened and thinned by disease, it had nonetheless managed to kill no less than three people, two of them by its own fangs. And that wasn't counting the untold number of livestock it had mauled and left uneaten during its reign of terror.

No, Candy didn't have any love for wolves.

But he did have a great affection for the Cartwrights, and an obligation as a hired hand to do what he could to safeguard their livestock. And he did not believe the cattle were being killed by any wolf.

Had he believed himself to be tracking rabid wolves, he would have been reluctant to ride alone. However, the presence of a pair told him that rabies was unlikely. Diseased wolves were nearly always alone, though nobody knew if they left the pack or if it was the other way around. Besides which, the dead calves were being eaten, not merely mauled. It appeared that the hunters made their kill and then stopped. A rabid wolf typically continued its attack, seeming intent on savaging as many other living things as it could before it died, almost as though it were actively trying to spread its disease. That there was a pair of animals told him they were probably not rabid. That would make them less dangerous, because they had in their heads whatever reason animals were normally capable of, and that would encourage them to avoid a confrontation. Animals did not like pain or injury, and would go to tremendous lengths to avoid such things, meaning that the wolves would move away from him if they could, and would likely only attack if he cornered them.

Dogs were a different matter entirely. Feral dogs had been known to attack humans without the excuse of disease, injury or apparent hunger. There were several theories as to why they did that. Some suggested they had formerly been abused by humans and were seeking revenge on the entire human race. Others suggested that, because they had once warmed themselves by man's fire, dogs had seen his weakness and knew when not to fear him. They further postulated that dogs knew the guns of men, and knew when a man wasn't carrying a gun or was not prepared to fire. Wolves and coyotes seemed to be able to learn about rifles, and would flee from a man carrying one much sooner than a man unarmed or carrying only a pistol. Many farmers and ranchers attested to the fact that having a gun kept wolves and coyotes at bay where the mere presence of a human did not. There was no verifying that.

Whatever the case, Candy had been on enough wolf hunts to know that wolves were often blamed for attacks perpetrated by other animals. He had once abandoned a hunting posse entirely because they insisted on hunting wolves when the tracks around the site where a calf had been killed were clearly those of a cougar. The animal was later shot by a rancher while attacking his livestock. In the meantime, a half dozen wolves and two coyotes (mistaken as wolves prior to being shot) had been killed as a result of the hunt. All the while, more cattle had been slain by the cougar. Nobody was hunting the cat, and the only reason it had ever been shot at all was because a rancher had been guarding his cattle against wolves.

There was no denying the fact that wolves were killers of livestock, nor that they were known to attack and kill humans for various reasons (some of which were known only to themselves). If he had believed the calves were being slain by wolves, Candy would have been the first one ready to hunt them. Well, one of the first anyway. Joe was pretty eager on the wolf hunting front. But the evidence didn't support it, and Candy wanted the real killers caught before they wiped out the Cartwright's herd or -worse- moved on to attacking the ranch hands guarding the cattle.

The tracks were difficult to follow. Candy was more than once forced to stop and dismount, hunting around for the tracks. It was like following the trail of a drunk. The tracks wove this way and that, sometimes cutting into heavy underbrush and other times weaving out into the open. Eventually he lost one set of tracks entirely and was forced to concentrate solely on the other.

Finally, near the edge of a seasonal stream swollen by the spring rains, Candy lost the tracks entirely. Whatever it was, dog or wolf, had entered the water. Whether it had crossed the stream and continued on or had merely waded for awhile then exited the stream on the same side, he couldn't say. He followed the stream up one side and then down the other for awhile, hoping to pick up the track. Instead, on the opposite side from that which he had started, Candy was distracted by the sound of a horse snorting, and he wondered who'd be out in this wooded area, a mile or more from where the cattle were pastured, and at least as far from any of the cut pathways of the ranch.

Candy traced the sound to its origin, more out of curiosity than anything, though he kept a hand on the handle of his pistol just in case the owner of that horse proved to be unfriendly. As he approached the source of the sound, a horse (presumably the one that had snorted earlier) whinnied, evidently having sensed Candy's horse, who pricked his ears in response.

Realizing the trees were thinning and a clearing was not far ahead, Candy stopped his horse and dismounted to make less of a target of himself. It was pure instinct on his part to do so, an old trick he'd learned. When people heard horses, they tended to assume they were being ridden. If somebody took a shot at you without a clear view, they usually aimed high, trying to hit above the horse's back. That made being on the ground the safest place to be, even aside from any other advantage, such as the ability to quickly duck behind a tree or rock, something which could not be done from horseback.

He also started to circle the clearing, intent on approaching no closer until the wind was blowing towards him, carrying the scent of both him and his horse away from the animal or animals in the clearing that would give him away by their noise. Before he got more than a few yards, a dog barked.

"Whose there?" it was the voice of a girl or young woman, and it sounded of fear.

Candy made the quick decision to reveal himself. Now the person or persons in the clearing knew someone or something was in the woods nearby, they would be looking for any movement of the trees or brush, and might take a shot at him out of alarm if he failed to appear. The more frightened people got, the more apt they were to start taking potshots. And Candy had no desire to be shot at.

He stepped out into the clearing with his horse in tow.

What he found was a small covered wagon with a burned out campfire near it. A pair of horses was tied nearby, big-boned and heavy animals clearly meant to pull the wagon. Under the wagon lay a large dog of uncertain ancestry. The shaggy animal barked and rose to a crouch; it was too tall to actually stand under the wagon. It bared its teeth in warning and barked again.

A brown-haired woman, presumably the one who'd spoken, stood near the campfire, her eyes wide at the sight of the stranger. A man came around the side of the wagon, carrying a lowered rifle.

"What's all the ruckus?" he demanded.

"Just me," Candy said in one of his best reassuring voices, holding his hands away from him and showing they were empty, "Didn't mean to startle you. I didn't expect to meet any folks out this way."

"Neither did we," the woman said, tugging at the shawl draped over her shoulders.

"Who are you?" the man asked, his hands tightening on the rifle.

"I should be asking you that," Candy said, then answered the question, "Name's Candy. I work for Ben Cartwright. He owns this land, you know."

"We don't know any Cartwright," the man said, his tone still hostile and his rifle lifting slightly.

"We're just passing through," the woman said hurriedly, "We didn't mean to be trespassing, we just needed a place to camp. One of our horses pulled up lame."

"Hattie," the man spoke the name warningly.

"There's no harm in his knowing," the woman -Hattie- told the man, then she returned her attention to Candy, "We'll be on our way just as soon as we can."

A lame wagon horse was no minor matter. They were more heavily built than riding horses, and expected to pull a lot more weight. On average, it took them longer to recover enough to go back to work than it did riding horses.

It was immediately obvious that these people didn't have much. Their horses were older animals, their clothing looked almost worn out, the rifle the man carried was practically ancient, and even the wagon itself had clearly seen better days. Likely they couldn't afford to replace their lame horse. It was plain from the packed look of the wagon that they were moving themselves and probably everything they owned to a new place. Moving west. Certainly they didn't give the impression that they were gypsies, who tended to always be traveling. They looked very much like they were going somewhere. Where that was exactly was none of Candy's business.

"I'll let Mr. Cartwright know you're out here," Candy said, "I don't expect he'll mind your being here. Though he or one of his sons may come out to speak with you," he nodded towards the man with the gun, "I recommend you keep that rifle lowered. They're nice, friendly people, and fair too, but they don't take kindly to having guns aimed at them," he started to go, then another thought struck him, "And keep your dog close. There's been an animal killing cattle around here, and I wouldn't want someone to mistake your dog for it and shoot him."

The two people said nothing, merely stared. Candy took that as his cue to go. He swung up on his horse, turned around and rode back the way he'd come. He'd lost the trail he'd been following for sure now. Besides, Mr. Cartwright would want to know about the people staying on his land.

Like as not, Mr. Cartwright or one of his boys would ride out here to check out these people, but Candy had seen enough to feel confident reporting that, while they were a little unfriendly, they seemed like they were just passing through on their way to somewhere else.

The size of the dog and hungry look of both animals and humans had not escaped his notice, and he knew it was possible they might have a second dog. He also realized that the tracks of the single animal had been heading in that general direction. But something bothered him. It was the campsite. It looked like they'd only been there for a day, maybe two. Nowhere near long enough to have been killing calves all along. Granted, they could have moved from one campsite to another and the dogs could have run well ahead of them, perhaps smelling potential food from miles away.

Rather than go back at once, Candy decided to scout out the area. It couldn't do any harm to look for tracks that would indicate those people were telling the truth. And anyway, he was already out here. He was inclined to believe them not only because they struck him as honest, but also because he doubted they would be hungry if they'd been the ones killing the calves all this time, not as frequent as the killings had been. If the dog had been acting alone or in tandem with another dog, at the very least the dog itself should not appear as thin as it did. If the dog acted on behalf of the humans, they should be well-fed. If the dog acted on its own, it should be all but fat. It wasn't a lot in the way of evidence, but it was enough that Candy's suspicions were mostly allayed.

But he knew it was a good idea to find out as much as he could. Not only for his own peace of mind, but also to report back to the Cartwrights. If anybody started believing in his theory that it was dogs and not wolves, it would be all too easy for them to blame the strangers in the woods. He knew that the Cartwrights tended not to jump to conclusions when it came to people, but some of the hands on the ranch were not so slow to judge. Regardless of the instruction or will of the employer, things could happen out on the range, especially when a paycheck was at stake.

The Ponderosa could weather a bad year. The loss of calves was painful, but Mr. Cartwright and his boys would survive. But very possibly at the cost of employees. The loss of cattle would reduce the numbers of hands needed, and also increase the pinch of the cost of paying, feeding and housing them. The hands were eager to get rid of the problem, before their jobs were endangered by it.

Candy was just as worried about his job as anybody. But he knew that the way to solve the problem was to find the killers, not somebody to blame and punish. He knew also that patience was not among the virtues common to cattlemen or ranch hands. They prided themselves on quick resolutions to issues. Unfortunately, there were times when this was done at the cost of truth and justice.

Having come uncomfortably close to a hangman's noose, Candy knew this better than anyone.

* * *

"No luck finding those dogs?" Randal's tone was a mocking one as he added, "Let me guess: you lost their tracks somehow? You, the great tracker."

Candy was irritated, not only because Randal was a constant source of annoyance, but also because he happened to be right. With Randal, it didn't matter that there was a stream, rocky ground and an unpredictable travel pattern to follow. For him, all that mattered was that Candy had lost the tracks, the fact that it was impossible to keep following them didn't enter into it.

But instead of telling Randal that, or telling him what he could do with his opinion, Candy merely responded, "And... did you catch any wolves while we were gone?"

Candy had returned to the ranch to tell Mr. Cartwright about the people with their wagon. Joe had ridden out to check on them. Hoss and Candy had killed some time working in the barn and checking some fences, then they'd ridden back to where they'd found the slain calf that morning. Randal had been left on watch there some distance from the calf, just in case the wolves returned in daylight.

"Don't be stupid," Randal spat, "Wolves don't come out in daylight unless there's something wrong with them. And we both know that, whether it's a pair or a pack, there being more than one wolf proves something. Diseased wolves don't travel in packs. Or pairs. Not for long anyway."

"I know that," Candy said mildly, controlling the impulse to respond to the name calling with considerable self-restraint, "I'm surprised you do."

Before Randal could say anything, Hoss took it upon himself to intervene.

"Candy, why don't you go down and join the men watchin' the herd. I'll stick with Randal here," though phrased as a question, it was clearly a command, and Candy obeyed.

"Sure," he said, glancing from Hoss to Randal, then back, "See you in the morning."

What troubled him as he rode away wasn't that Hoss had clearly favored Randal over him, and had been doing so for awhile now, but that Hoss would be spending the night effectively alone with the man. The herd was down in the valley tonight, and that was where the ranch hands would be. If there was any trouble up here, it would be over almost as soon as the men in the valley would hear a shot fired.

Not that Candy expected wolves. He didn't even expect dogs. Not where the calf was anyway. But up here, in the dark, shadows could look like anything. And it didn't take much to set Randal off. A hot head eager to prove he was right was not who you wanted to spend a night in the dark with. He could too easily get trigger happy, and somebody (namely Hoss) could get hurt in the process.

Candy knew that he himself had a temper, and that sometimes he was too clever for his own good. But he also knew better than to go shooting at shadows. He'd survived enough nights surrounded by enemies he couldn't see crawling through the dark to know when to keep his bullets to himself. In the dark, it was too easy to get turned around, too easy to let your imagination run wild. Too easy to shoot one of your own instead of the enemy because everybody looked the same in the dark if you were scared or angry enough. Randal, Candy was certain, lacked that experience.

He also knew that the smell of blood would be drawing other animals. Nothing brought coyotes in from miles around like the smell of death. And there was no telling how many coyotes had been mistaken for wolves even in broad daylight. If a coyote, or a pair of them, showed up tonight... well, Candy just hoped Hoss knew enough to keep Randal close.

Candy needn't have worried about that. One thing he didn't know about the time Joe was mauled by a wolf was that exactly what he was worried about now had happened then. Joe hadn't merely been bitten, he'd also been shot. It was something Hoss would never forget, and Hoss was definitely smart enough to take steps to ensure it never happened to him. The being shot, or the shooting.

Unlike Hoss and Randal, the riders in the valley would be taking it in shifts to ride around the area where the cattle were bedding down. The objective was to encourage the cattle to stay together, to spot any wandering cattle, and also to increase the human presence in the area through sight, sound and scent, which would hopefully discourage any wolves lurking in the dark. There was a camp set up some distance from the cattle for riders not on shift. It had to be distant so they could have a fire without scaring the cattle, who were naturally afraid of open flame and the smell of smoke.

Knowing where each man was expected to be reduced the chances of riders shooting each other, as did the fact that they were riding horses. Not only was the sound of hooves and a horse's body moving through grass and other vegetation a dead giveaway, anyone up on a horse created a shape much too large (and especially tall) to be mistaken for a wolf. If anybody dismounted, they would stay near their horse. The presence of the horse would make any rider hesitated to take a shot, not only because they expected a man to be with the animal, but also because it wouldn't shy from its own rider as it would attempt to flee from a wolf. Ideally, everyone would be staying on their horses unless they were in camp.

Of course, ideally, there wouldn't be some animal -wolf or otherwise- out there killing cattle.

The major disadvantage they had was that this had been going on for awhile now. The men were beginning to get into the routine of riding around and seeing nothing, which meant they were starting to expect to see nothing, which made it less likely that they would see anything because they weren't looking for it. It also meant they were getting frustrated, which increased the likelihood of fights amongst themselves, and also a tendency to shoot at shadows just from the tension. And nights out on the hard ground when they had a bunkhouse in spitting distance was beginning to wear on them. Sparking tempers and fraying nerves were always bad, but especially when paired up with boredom and an increasing sense of futility. The plain and simple fact was that their presence did not seem to be stopping the killing, or even slowing it down.

Even aside from the increased danger during the night, not only from what might be out in it but from the men themselves, Candy had seen men quit for lesser reasons. But the men in the employ of the Cartwrights were surprisingly loyal. Or perhaps not so surprising. They were fairly paid, treated with respect and -above all- the Cartwrights didn't ask their men to do something they wouldn't. Hoss wasn't the only Cartwright out here. Mr. Cartwright and Joe were out at other camps, trying to keep the cattle in those areas together and out of danger. There were too many cattle to successfully keep all together. The grazing alone saw to that, but there was also the mere matter of simply trying to keep that many cattle in a herd. Mr. Cartwright also didn't like keeping all his eggs in one basket. With multiple herds, if there was a predator around, hopefully only one herd would stampede. And disease spread could be slowed down or stopped before all the cattle on the ranch were wiped out. There were other reasons, but those were the primary ones that Candy knew of.

Of course, being rather stupid beasts, the cattle were often trying to spread out still more, and individuals often strayed. Riders routinely had to drive a wayward cow or calf back to the herd, pull them from mud or cut them free of barbed fencing they'd blundered into.

As best Candy could tell, the difference between livestock and wildlife was the ability to survive on its own. Candy very seldom found deer caught in fences, and he'd never found one stuck in the mud except for a yearling fawn once. Deer never trampled their own young when in flight, anyway Candy had never seen it. And deer almost never drank stagnant or poisoned water either. If you ever did find a cow clever enough to survive, she was usually nothing but trouble because she was too intelligent to be satisfied with her lot as an animal that did nothing but eat, drink and sleep. Intelligent cattle only made a rider's job harder, because they tended to be stubborn and mischievous, and also quite active.


	3. of Fault

Things were quiet until about a quarter after midnight.

The sound of a gunshot echoed through the valley, making it difficult to pinpoint the location of it. Out riding, Candy at first assumed it had come from uphill, near where Randal and Hoss were. He started to turn his horse to investigate, but he didn't get far before the bellowing of frightened cattle alerted him to his sudden peril. The animals were fleeing from something on the other side of the herd, galloping in Candy's direction. Candy's horse neighed in alarm, but turned almost without instruction. The chestnut was an experienced cow pony, and wasn't going to bolt from a stampede so long as he had a good rider on his back.

Knowing the cattle were heading towards where Hoss and Randal were, Candy moved immediately to try and turn them to the right. The lay of the land and the other riders would help to convince the stampeding herd to turn on itself, running in a circle until it wore itself out. The primary danger was that the cattle would overrun one or more of the campsites, or blunder into a group that hadn't already stampeded, thereby increasing its strength with numbers.

Moving to the emerging head of the stampede, Candy fired a shot at the ground ahead of the leaders of the herd. They should have turned to avoid the perceived danger. Some of them did, but one instead broke and ran off on its own. The problem began to spiral out of control as other cattle, seeing the lone one and thinking it was leading them in flight, began to scatter from the main group.

Candy had to make a quick decision. He turned his horse and went after the splitter herd, racing to overtake it before it stumbled into the campsite uphill. The horse overtook the cattle relatively easily, and its presence was enough to turn the half dozen animals back downhill without a struggle.

By now, everyone was up on their horses and getting involved with turning the herd and trying to get it under control. Candy began to resume his former activity of turning the herd when something darted right under his horse's belly. The chestnut squealed with fright and reared up, almost dislodging his rider. The horse then bucked and started to run. Once the animal was alarmed, it was difficult to get him back under control. Periodic firing of shots, the sound of the cattle herd thundering along, riders shouting and whistling and other horses neighing contributed to the chestnut's continued panic.

Candy turned his horse away from the cattle and camps by pulling hard on the reins, putting space between the frightened horse and the noise until he could get the animal back under control. Once the chestnut was back in hand, he returned to assisting the other men in controlling the herd.

While he was heading back, he met up with Hoss and Randal.

"What happened?" Hoss shouted over the din.

"I don't know!" Candy yelled back, "Somebody fired a shot and the cattle went nuts."

"What are you doing out here?" Randal asked.

"Horse spooked," Candy replied, "Something ran right under him."

"What was it?" Randal wanted to know.

"I don't know," Candy told him, "Maybe a bobcat, maybe a coyote. I didn't get a real look."

That more or less constituted the extent of conversation for the rest of the night. From then on, every man was consumed with the work of keeping the stampede contained by turning it in on itself and preventing cattle from splintering away from the main group. The herd ran itself into exhaustion, and it was nearly dawn before they finally slowed and stumbled to a weary stop.

By then however, the damage had been done. Perhaps no wolf had gotten to the cattle that night, but calves had died just the same, whether they slowed down, tripped or fell, several had been trampled in the stampede, their fragile bodies crushed over and over under a thousand and more hooves.

One of the rider's horse's had stumbled and gone down, breaking the cowboy's leg. Luckily for the man however, Randal had been nearby enough to take over his position and make the herd turn so Hoss could move in and get the man clear while the horse got to its feet and bolted away into the night.

The remaining riders were exhausted, and lather was drying on the necks, shoulders and flanks of their horses. Though there hadn't been time for his rider to take notice during the stampede, Hoss' big brown horse, Chub, must have taken a bad step or gotten a stone stuck in his hoof, because he was limping. Chub hadn't let his master down all night, responding to commands without hesitation or complaint, but now he snorted and pawed at the air with his bad hoof, indicating clearly that he was quite lame.

While Hoss dismounted and examined his horse, Candy turned his own horse around and rode to the spot he'd been at when the stampede began. He moved outside the area where horses and riders had worked to keep the cattle, and slowly began to circle until he found what he was looking for.

Tracks of the animal that had gone under his horse. They were broken up, not only because of horses trampling over them but also because the animal in question had been in full flight. Candy dismounted and led his horse, following the tracks. The animal hadn't bolted full speed for long. It had taken flight into the woods, but had stopped at the edge, clever enough to realize nobody was chasing it.

Then it had trotted along the forest edge, leaving the protection of the trees when it smelled the dead calf and campsite Hoss and Randal had abandoned. It had fed on the calf most of the night, knowing somehow that the men in the valley were unaware of it. That was hardly surprising, because the tracks belonged unmistakably to a coyote, one of the boldest and cleverest scavengers out there. With a nose sharper than any cow's, and even better than that of a bloodhound, it had probably smelled the dead calf from a distance and come in search of a free meal. Coyotes would attack unguarded calves, but seldom -if ever- went after a herd. They were too small to be much danger to a grown cow, especially since they often traveled alone or in pairs.

Now Candy understood why the first shot had been fired. Some idiot had caught a glimpse of the coyote, mistaken it for a wolf and fired on it. Not only had that man missed, he had also stampeded the cattle. The list of suspects was very short, because Candy knew exactly who had been out riding last night, and who had been back at the campsite. The shot had undoubtedly been fired by a rider.

It was bound to happen sooner or later. Though many of the hands hired by Ben Cartwright were experienced cowhands, just as many were green as grass. Candy hadn't had extensive experience with cattle prior to coming to work on the Ponderosa, but he knew enough not to fire a shot near them, particularly at night. He could think of only one kid inexperienced enough to make that mistake.

He rode back to where the herd was resting and quickly located Hoss, who was leading his limping horse to the nearby camp. Candy rapidly overtook him.

"Somebody took a shot at a coyote last night," Candy told him, "It must've been attracted by the smell of the dead calf."

"You know who it was?" Hoss asked.

"It had to have been Sam," Candy said.

"But you didn't see it happen," Hoss said.

"No," Candy admitted, "I didn't."

"What makes you think it was him?" Hoss wanted to know.

"He's the only one who was out riding last night that was green enough to make that mistake."

"I see," Hoss said, but he sounded rather dubious.

"What are you gonna do?" Candy inquired curiously.

"Well, since nobody saw him do it, I can't very well blame him for it, can I? So unless he tells me he did it, I'll leave well enough alone," Hoss answered, "Like as not he's learned his lesson anyhow."

Candy looked over at the weary cattle, asleep on their feet and nodded.

"Yeah," he agreed, "He probably has."

* * *

With the return of daylight, the cattle were tenuously safer for the moment. While it was not entirely true that wolves only hunted at night, the fact was that men could see better during the day. Cattle were more predictable and relaxed during the daylight hours as well, which made it easier to keep an eye on them. Wolves seemed to know that cattle were more likely to stand their ground during the day, making them harder to kill. They seemed also to know that men were more dangerous to them in daylight, and thus stayed far away from anywhere with humans until nightfall.

That made it safe for some of the hands to return to the ranch and try to catch some sleep in the bunkhouse. Or, in Candy's case, volunteer to retrieve a horse for Hoss to get back on since his own could no longer be ridden. It wasn't general niceness on Candy's part, he had an ulterior motive.

Specifically, by the time he got back with the horse, most of the hired hands who were leaving the area had already left, and he didn't have to endure a watching audience during his confession.

Candy brought in the horse Hoss had requested from the pasture, tacked it up and led it back to where Hoss waited with Chub. Then they rode back together, Hoss leading Chub slowly. Seeing his master riding another horse, the heart seemed to go out of Chub, and he frequently forced them to stop on the way back, pulling at his lead, tossing his head and then pawing at the air with his hurt leg as if trying to demonstrate to them why he needed to stop and rest.

"He sure doesn't like to see you ridin' another horse, does he?" Candy observed.

"He's ain't so fond of me drivin' a wagon neither," Hoss replied, "He's almost like a different horse."

"And here I thought Joe's pinto had all the attitude," Candy said.

"He's got more than his share, that's for sure."

Candy was glad the only complaint he had about his own horse was the red chestnut's tendency to follow other horses, even when Candy didn't want to go anywhere. It didn't seem to matter to the chestnut whether he knew the horses or not, if they were loose or being ridden or pulling a stagecoach, he just wanted to go with other horses wherever they went. But that was pretty much the extent of the problems the horse made for him, otherwise the animal would gamely do as Candy asked, even if the task set before him was a difficult one.

Candy knew he was stalling, avoiding saying what he should by talking about the horse. He expected that Hoss knew that too. To those with limited perception, Hoss might seem stupid, but Candy knew better, had known right from the start. Hoss might lack the knowledge and wisdom his father had gained over his lifetime, and he might be short the silver tongue of his often scheming little brother, but Hoss was in his own way every bit as clever. Candy knew only too well that Hoss had played a fairly large role in saving his hide at Olympus. Without Hoss and the other Cartwrights, Candy would probably have been finished there. Of course, if not for them, he wouldn't have consented to go back at all.

"I... uh..." Candy cleared his throat uneasily, "I'm sorry. About what happened with the calf and the coyote. It was a dumb idea; I should've realized what might happen. I should've known better."

A part of him knew what Hoss would say before the big man responded. A part of him had learned well what the Cartwrights were made of, and how they went about making decisions and passing judgment on matters. But another part of him couldn't quite ever believe what he'd seen of them so far. That part of him didn't believe people had the capacity to be as generous, compassionate and fair-minded as the Cartwrights were. That part of him firmly believed the only reason Hoss hadn't already bitten his head off was that he hadn't had time to think matters through and realize the blame for everything that happened last night rested squarely on Candy. And that part of him was scared to point out his mistake, scared of what it might mean for him. That part of him, which usually knew human nature so very well and which he regularly relied upon for his survival, was wrong.

"Aw, Candy," Hoss said, "I been workin' around cattle my whole life. I knew the risks of leavin' that calf where it was. So did Pa and Joe. An' we talked it over and realized it might just give us a shot at the wolves. So it didn't work out that way; you couldn't have known that, an' neither could we."

Candy shook his head, "I should've been on the other side of the herd. I knew which way the wind was blowing, and I knew the smell would attract predators. But I was so focused on which way the tracks had led that I didn't even think-"

"Candy," Hoss interrupted, shaking his head, "Sometimes things go wrong, and there's nothin' you or anybody else can do about it."

"I cost you three calves and a rider. It's my fault Chub's limping now," Candy insisted.

"Maybe it is and maybe it ain't," Hoss replied evenly, "But what's done is done, and there ain't nothin' any of us can do to change it. What matters is that we'll know better next time."

Candy couldn't help but wonder if Hoss meant that they would know better than to leave a dead calf near the herd, or know better than to take his suggestions.

* * *

When Candy arrived at the bunkhouse, Randal was waiting for him.

"Using slick words to try and save your job?" Randal asked, "That's why you volunteered to go back and get a horse for Hoss, right? So you could have time to talk your way out of losing your job."

Candy had had just about enough of Randal. The man had been picking on him from the moment he arrived, and Candy was sick of it. He'd tried being good-humored and tolerant to the best of his ability because he knew that Randal and his family were friends of the Cartwrights, but the man was like a thorn in his side, constantly digging at him, and he wasn't sure how much more he could take.

Randal had gotten bolder over time. Now he didn't just say what he had to say quietly or when nobody was looking. This particular remark he'd saved for the bunkhouse, knowing a lot of the hired hands would be there to hear him. Candy would apologize to the Cartwrights for his mistake, but he didn't owe the other hands anything, and he didn't like Randal's implication.

"I'm trying to save all our jobs," Candy snapped angrily.

"Yeah right," Randal scoffed, looking around the room at the other hands, who carefully avoided looking at either him or Candy, trying not to be involved.

"Look," Candy said, rounding on Randal, his eyes flashing, "Maybe you're not bright enough to figure it out on your own so I'll break it down for you: We don't catch what's killing cattle, it keeps killin'. It keeps killing, the Cartwrights keep losing cattle. They keep losing cattle and they start losing money. Put those last two together and they lose incentive to pay guys like us. Do you get it now?" he looked around the bunkhouse and saw he'd gained the undivided attention of everyone, they were all staring at him with a variety of expressions, "Do any of you?"

He threw his saddlebag down, then stormed out, hoping that taking some deep breaths outside would help him regain his composure before he did something stupid. He knew his temper would get him into trouble. He knew that Randal was young and ignorant, and probably not really very afraid of losing his job. All Randal had to lose was a paycheck. But some of the other ranch hands were old enough to get it, and some of them were like Candy: they had no place to go if they lost their home here. Candy's mistake had cost them in security, and they all knew it. But they also had to know how motivated he was to stop the cattle from being killed, because they had the same motivation he did.

Candy's steps took him to one of the horse paddocks, and he leaned against the top rail, watching the horses in the paddock grazing contentedly on the green spring grass as if they didn't have a care in the world. Just now they didn't. The horses in this paddock were draft animals, and their services were not currently needed. These horses had pulled wagons carrying more than just supplies. They had carried injured men and dead men, ferried explosives and food. These horses had probably even been shot at before. Right now they had nothing to worry about, and they were making the most of it. But Candy knew that, like most of the horses on the Ponderosa, it would take nothing more than a beckoning whistle to bring them in from the paddock, and they would stand quietly while being harnessed, taking their bits almost eagerly. The training and handling methods used by the Cartwrights inspired loyalty, cooperation and uncommon courage in their horses... and in their ranch hands.

"Candy?"

Candy jumped at the sound of Sam's voice. Preoccupied with his thoughts, and a little fuzzy from lack of sleep, he hadn't heard Sam approaching, nor noticed the younger man joining him at the fence.

"Sam," Candy acknowledged him in a calm voice.

"Can I ask you somethin'?"

"You just did," Candy answered with a brief smile, then sobered when the younger man failed to respond, "Go ahead."

"Do you really think it's something besides wolves killing them cattle?"

Candy looked sidelong at Sam and responded, "That's not what you came to ask."

Sam sighed and hung his head, "No. No it ain't."

"So spit it out before it chokes you," Candy advised.

"Say... say I did somethin' stupid..." he faltered, and Candy couldn't resist the opportunity.

"You did something stupid," Candy said, then continued as though Sam had finished speaking, "You took a potshot at what you thought was a wolf and stampeded a herd of cattle. Almost got some people killed. And did get some calves trampled. Dutch got a broken leg out of the bargain."

"You knew?" Sam asked, clearly surprised.

"Wasn't hard to figure," Candy replied, "You were the only one who could've taken that shot," he decided not to go down the list of reasons _why_ Sam was the only suspect.

"Did you tell Hoss Cartwright?" Sam inquired.

"I haven't got any proof," Candy said, though that didn't actually answer the question.

Sam nodded, still looking troubled.

"The Cartwrights value honesty," Candy told him, "And they're not stupid. They don't need me to tell them it was you to figure it out for themselves. It'll count as a point in your favor if you tell them yourself."

"If they already know but ain't done nothin' about it, why not just let sleeping dogs lie?" Sam asked.

"Because it'll count against you in the long run. They won't forget the mistake, or the fact that you didn't come forward and admit it. Not only would it look like you were being dishonest with them, it might even look like you were being dishonest with yourself, not admitting you'd done something wrong. Next time you make a mistake -and you will- they'll have to wonder if you're worth keeping around. How much can they really trust somebody who isn't honest with them?"

"But if it don't come up... maybe..."

"Maybe nothing. It happened. You did it. It was your mistake. Admit it."

"What if they fire me?" Sam asked.

"I don't think they will," Candy told him, "But better you know now and get it over with than let that fear eat you up inside. And it will. Believe me, you don't want to live with that."

"Nobody else knows," Sam said, "They're too tired to guess anythin'."

"So tell the Cartwrights before somebody like Randal figures it out and brings it to them. Then they'll be forced to do something or lose face with their hired help. That's something they can't afford."

"What's the difference if I tell 'em 'steada Randal doin' it?" Sam wanted to know.

"Whether you're honest or not, it says something about what kind of man you are," Candy said, "Especially if you're honest when you've got everything to lose."

"I s'pose you're right," Sam admitted.

"Usually am," Candy replied with a shrug.

"But I could still lose my job," Sam said.

"You could," Candy agreed, "But since you asked, I'll tell you something: it's better you lose your job like a man than like a coward. Whatever happens, you have to live with it for the rest of your life, and I can tell you for sure which is easier on the conscience."

It was a lot easier to see from the outside. Candy fully believed that Sam wouldn't lose his job for his mistake, especially not if he owned up to it. But for some reason that was a lot harder to believe when it was Candy himself who'd made the mistake. It was much easier to trust the Cartwrights with other people's jobs and lives than with his own. He didn't know why that was so, he just knew that it was.

He also knew that working for the Cartwrights had affected him in ways he could not have predicted. With any employer he'd had before, he wouldn't have bothered with a confession or an apology. He would just have turned in his resignation and split, assuming they didn't fire him first. He'd been fired for lesser offenses than making bad suggestions. But he realized that he was becoming just like those horses. He didn't want to leave the Ponderosa. In their mysterious way, the Cartwrights had captured his trust and his respect, and thus secured his loyalty.

He understood in part how they'd done it. They were fair-minded people, willing to give men the benefit of the doubt, and never asking their hired help to do anything they were unwilling to do for themselves. But there was something deeper than that.

Candy had only been working for them a few weeks when the sheriff from Olympus had come knocking on their door. Yet they had not only believed him innocent until proven guilty, they'd actually gone to bat for him. Joe had ridden into that town alongside him, and both he and Hoss had gone to considerable effort to prove Candy's innocence. They'd taken it on his word that he'd committed no crime in Olympus, not merely believing in his innocence but spending time and energy trying to prove it. They had defended him when nobody else would. Had believed in him when no one else could. He knew that -if not for them- he would have run from that. And he would probably have died running.

They had not only saved his life, they had actively changed the way he chose to live it.

But change wasn't easy. It didn't happen all in one night. Changing the way he lived meant changing the way he thought, and what he believed. That wasn't easy for him to do. He slipped sometimes, and reverted to his old ways more often than he would've liked to admit. Candy's former life had been one of violence, where most disputes were settled with fists, knives, bullets or a combination of all three and the only alternative was flight. He trusted nobody and nobody trusted him. He settled nowhere for long, he had acquaintances and enemies but not friends. He'd not allowed anybody to get that close since he was a teenager, a boy who thought of himself as a man. Betrayal by the people he'd trusted the most tended to do that to a person. And nobody brought that Candy's old self and past experiences closer to the surface than Randal.

If he'd known more about who Candy had been, he would not have dared be so bold.

In the old days, Candy would already have cut and run. Randal was not only a family friend of the Cartwrights, but the son of a friend; Candy couldn't compete with that. Since he couldn't get rid of Randal, he would've had to run. He'd have done it for the same reason he'd run from Olympus.

Candy realized he couldn't end his day here. There was something he had to do first.


	4. of Risk

Edward Lowe's ranch was a long ride from the Ponderosa, and Candy opted to take a fresh horse rather than the one he'd been riding all night. This horse was also a chestnut, but more golden than his preferred mount, with flaxen mane and a blaze. She was also stockier than his preferred horse, younger and a mare. None of that counted against her except for the inherent inexperience of youth which made her apt to spook, wander or get ideas that could get her or her rider into trouble.

Candy's regular horse had originated on the Ponderosa, but he'd made a deal with Mr. Cartwright for the animal not long after he arrived, and now he owned it free and clear. The mare was technically Mr. Cartwright's property still, but she'd been given to Candy to work with. She was broken to saddle and bridle, but what she lacked was field experience. He frequently rode her into town to collect the mail, and for other relatively predictable tasks, where there was a minimum chance of her encountering something that would upset her too badly. The idea was to gradually increase her exposure to things which were startling or frightening, so she would be less reactive and hopefully learn that those things weren't worth spooking over, and that she could trust her rider no matter what.

It wasn't the first time Candy had worked with a green horse, but it was the first time his employer had instructed him to be gentle and patient. Most of the people he'd worked for expected him to use any means necessary to control the horse, even if he broke the animal in the process. Force and respect went hand in hand. That was normal, it was how most horses were trained. But the Cartwrights preferred another method, one which left the horse's spirit and brains still intact, but its will bent towards the wishes of its rider. They did sometimes resort to force to get a horse to behave, but that was their last resort. They preferred to win a horse's confidence and willing cooperation. Candy liked the idea, though he didn't entirely understand how it worked just yet.

What he did know was that the chestnut he rode regularly was as gentle and cooperative and willing a horse as he'd ever been around. He also found that he was familiar with the Ponderosa brand. Mr. Cartwright had sold horses to the army more than once, and Candy had met some of those horses in his past. They were among the most reliable horses he'd ever seen, not merely patient and willing, but almost completely shock proof. An explosion could go off right next to those horses and there was a good chance that they would not only not try to unseat their rider, but would remain actively under their rider's control. But at the same time, if the horses saw that there was a threat ahead such as a rattlesnake on the ground, they would signal their rider with protest. They could be coerced into continuing forward, but would make a concentrated effort to make known their distress instead of blindly obeying their riders. Candy was definitely interested in learning how to teach horses to be like that. Getting a combination of more than adequate obedience and useful awareness of surroundings wasn't easy.

Candy found Edward Lowe out on the range with his cattle. Lowe had a very small spread in comparison to the Ponderosa, and regularly employed only his two eldest sons, Liam and John, along with James Winston, who had been his foreman for the last twenty years. It had been a bad year for Edward Lowe. A late frost in early spring had killed most of the calves in his small herd, and the rainfall this year had so far been inadequate. The grass on his property wasn't growing fast enough to fatten up the herd. The cattle were alive, certainly, but they weren't about to be ready to sell. As he approached the herd, Candy counted only five measly little calves, which all looked underweight, especially now Candy was used to being around the Ponderosa's thriving herd.

Candy reined his mare to a stop and let Edward Lowe come to him, as was only polite. When Lowe pulled up near Candy, his big black gelding reached out to sniff Candy's mare, but she withdrew her head slightly. Evidently annoyed by this, he took a nip at the nose of Candy's mare, who shied a little.

"Candy," Lowe nodded in greeting, "What brings you out here?"

Candy had met Lowe once before briefly, when the rancher came to visit the Cartwrights. He was rather surprised to find that Lowe remembered him.

"There's been some trouble over at the Ponderosa," Candy explained, "Something's been killing cattle."

"Yes, Randal told me about that," Lowe said slowly, "I'm sorry to hear it."

Candy nodded an acknowledgment, then continued, "I've been trying to track it. Since there wasn't an attack on the Ponderosa last night, I thought maybe whatever it was had headed this way."

While he was talking, his eye was drawn to two oncoming riders, whom he recognized as Liam and John. To be more precise, his eye was attracted to the two large, dark shapes gliding along behind them. Those shapes were a pair of curs, each the size of a large wolf. They were reddish brown with black muzzles, and there was a decidedly unfriendly look in their eyes that was reflected in the aspect of the two approaching riders. Both Liam and John had met Candy in the saloon before, and were well aware of their brother's feelings about him. They had also broken up more than one bar fight between Candy and Randal.

"James was out here most of the night," Lowe told Candy, ignoring the arrival of his two boys, "When you've got as few calves as I have this year, you keep a mighty close eye on 'em."

The two dogs trotted past where the boys had stopped their horses, and approached Candy's mare. They split up on either side of her, investigating the stranger with their noses. Candy's mare shifted uneasily, trying to watch both dogs at once. She wasn't accustomed to dogs, and she tried to turn and face them, though she seemed unable to make up her mind about which dog needed facing. Candy repeatedly nudged her just to get her to stand still, and tried not to worry about the dogs himself. They were soon behind him, where he couldn't see them or tell what they were doing, moving as silently as ghosts.

"If any wolves had come sniffing around the cattle," Lowe continued, ignoring his dogs, "James woulda seen it. An' so would Liam's dogs."

Liam decided to chime in, "Any wolf comes snoopin' around here, my dogs'll tear it to pieces."

Since the subject of dogs had come up, Candy took the opportunity to look at them to see what they were doing. One dog was keeping back, but the other was circling uncomfortably close to the mare's hocks. One snap from those jaws could cut the tendons in her leg and bring the mare down, but one kick from her hind leg could break the dog's jaw, or even kill it. But Candy was more worried about the dog pressuring the mare and her bolting in fright.

Evidently, Liam didn't like how close the dog was getting to the mare's legs either.

He whistled, and commanded, "Duke, get back," and the dog leaped away from the horse as though it had been shot. Candy sighed inwardly with relief, even though the sudden whistle had startled his mare and made her toss her head. It wasn't difficult to sooth her down once the dogs backed off and began to lose interest.

"Well I'm sorry to have bothered you," Candy said, tipping his hat politely, "Guess I'll be on my way."

"You do that," Liam suggested with narrowed eyes.

Candy turned his mare around and kicked her into an easy trot. She wanted to go faster, to flee the area inhabited by the dogs as quickly as possible, but Candy held her in. She'd only hurt herself if she galloped, and like as not her going into flight would have the dogs chasing after her in a heartbeat.

Though domesticated long ago, dogs had never forgotten that they were predators. Especially not curs, who served the dual purpose of livestock herders and guardians, and also of hunting dogs. They were useful in tracking, treeing and holding animals at bay. Cur dogs of that type were also very successful killers of wolves and coyotes, particularly if you had a pair or pack of them.

He was willing to bet that they were also more than capable of bringing down a calf and killing it with terrifying efficiency if they had a mind to. Candy had been hoping not to find dogs on the Lowe ranch. Instead, he had found a pair large enough to have left the tracks he'd seen. His intention in visiting the Lowe ranch was to lay aside his instinctive suspicion of Randal. Instead, he now found himself wondering if it might not just be Randal. The dogs belonged to Liam, and might only respond to him. But it had also been a bad year for Edward Lowe's cattle, which was motive enough to steal meat from the calves and try to conceal doing so with dogs. It could be any of the Lowes, or perhaps all of them together.

Any such speculation on Candy's part was dangerous.

Not only was he the outsider here, but he had a long-established animosity towards Randal. If he wanted to come to the Cartwrights with his suspicions, he'd need a heckuva lot more to go on than the mere fact that they had two dogs and few calves. This was dangerous ground he was treading on, and pursuing this angle was very likely to land him in trouble. Even if he was right and managed to prove it, it was still entirely possible that the blow-back would result in him losing his job on the Ponderosa.

Lots of people had large dogs, many had pairs or packs of them. Beyond that, Candy still had no proof that it was dogs and not wolves. Even if it was dogs, there was as yet no evidence to suggest that humans were involved. He'd so far seen no human tracks around the kill sites. Nor horses either. Just cattle, and some form of canid that was bigger than a coyote; wolf or dog he couldn't be entirely sure.

Candy had already made one mistake recently that had cost the Cartwrights three calves, along with a rider and one of their favorite horses. Admittedly both horse and rider were very much alive and would recover, but neither of them would be doing any work for quite some time. It was a costly error on Candy's part, whatever Hoss said. He could not afford to make another. If he was going to accuse someone specific, or even someone's dogs, he had to be damned sure he was right.

Even if he was, depending on who he accused, the Cartwrights might not want to hear it, and could choose not to believe him. If they didn't, he could easily find himself fired for his accusations.

But instinct and experience both told him that it wasn't wolves, even though everyone else seemed convinced that it was. If he didn't pursue this angle, nobody would, and the Cartwrights would continue losing cattle. If it was intentional and their cattle specifically were being targeted, it was very possible that it might escalate to something far worse. For the sake of the Cartwrights, Candy was bound to continue his investigation.

* * *

Randal must have heard Candy returning, because he came out of the bunkhouse while Candy was unsaddling his horse and attempted to corner him.

"Where have you been?" Randal asked, stepping into Candy's way after he'd removed the saddle from the mare, forcing him to stand there holding it while he answered.

"I don't see that it's any business of yours where I've been," Candy replied coolly, "Last I checked, you aren't my boss or my keeper," he stepped around Randal and put the saddle down, then turned to find Randal in the way of his returning to the mare.

"It's my business when you rode off in the direction of my father's ranch."

"There are a lot of places in that direction," Candy said, stepping around Randal again in order to reach the horse, "What would I want with your father?"

Randal stepped close to the mare's head to prevent Candy from entirely turning his back on him, and said, "That's exactly what I want to know. I know you weren't tracking the wolves, so why would you head that way? Exactly what did you and my father talk about?"

"What makes you think I talked to your father?" Candy asked mildly.

He wasn't about to admit to Randal or anybody else what his true motivations for visiting the Lowe ranch were. But he had to admit to himself that the real reason he wasn't giving Randal the same explanation he'd given Randal's father was that he was enjoying the frustrated anger of the younger man. Randal liked to needle him constantly, and Candy figured turnabout was fair play. It was also fun.

Randal apparently didn't see it that way, because he grabbed hold of Candy and shoved him roughly against the mare's side, and demanded, "Tell me what you went to see my father about!"

"Get off me!" Candy snarled, shoving Randal back.

He struggled to keep his anger in check.

He didn't like being pushed around, and usually took the first shove personally. Normally, he took someone grabbing onto him as license to fight, but he knew that this was neither the time nor the place. Besides which, the mare was getting spooky because of the sudden movements and raised voices, and it was pure foolishness to fight near a frightened horse. That was a good way to get kicked or trampled, and Candy was rather fond of his bones being in their usual unbroken state.

"Tell me!" Randal all but shouted, oblivious of the mare's agitation, or possibly hoping that the distraction of that would make Candy answer him.

The sound of raised voices had attracted attention, not just from the bunkhouse, but also the ranch house. Hired hands and Cartwrights alike were emerging to see what was going on.

"You want to know so bad?" Candy growled quietly, "Go and ask him yourself."

With that, he jerked on the mare's led rope, breaking the tie to the hitching post and led her away, not daring to look back to see what Randal or any of the others watching would do.

It was his only recourse; if he had stayed to argue with Randal, they would have fought for sure. Though it had not been explicitly stated, Candy could sense he was on thin ice with the Cartwrights, and that it had specifically to do with his conflict with Randal, which was interfering with the abilities of the both of them to do their work. It was disrupting the customary peace of the Ponderosa, and that was something the Cartwrights could not abide for long.

He knew he should not have provoked Randal, even though Randal had started it, but he couldn't seem to help himself. The best he could do was leave the scene before things escalated further. It was pure reflex to push back when someone pushed him, and to irritate them if they irritated him, it had heretofore been his main form of self-defense; meeting any and all forms of challenge with equal challenge had been his means of survival. But that wasn't the right answer here. He knew it, but he couldn't stop reacting the way he did, perhaps it was just not in his nature to be any other way.

Even so, he had to try, if he had any hope of staying.

* * *

Watching Candy retreat, Hoss said, "Pa, we gotta do somethin', 'fore those two kill each other."

Turning to go back into the house, Ben said, "Well what do you suggest? So far they haven't really done anything wrong. At least, not that I've heard about," he cast a sidelong look at his boys, who said nothing to that.

"I don't know," Hoss admitted, "But somehow we've got to get 'em to see eye to eye on somethin'."

"Yeah, or else let one or both of them go," Joe put in.

"I'm not prepared to do that," Ben said firmly, "Not yet anyway."

"Well we can't let things set as they are now," Hoss insisted, "We've tried givin' 'em time to work it out themselves, and it's only led to more of the same."

"Hoss is right about that," Joe said, "It seems like the more time they spend near each other, the worse it gets. And now with nobody getting enough sleep and things so tense, it's gotten a lot worse."

"I've noticed," Ben said, not adding that he'd also noticed his sons bringing the problem to his attention with ever greater frequency, probably because they were getting nowhere on the wolf problem and saw this as something they could potentially tackle, if their father would just tell them how.

Candy's largely unsubstantiated assertion that it was dogs and not wolves killing the cattle had only worsened matters. Not only was Randal openly mocking him for the notion, the fact was that his persistence on the matter was a distraction. The argument about wolves versus dogs had preceded the ultimately disastrous suggestion of leaving the slain calf where it was in the hopes of catching the predators returning to their kill, and the suggestion initiating a lull in the Randal/Candy conflict had made them more inclined to take it without considering the risk just so they could have a little peace.

Things could not continue as they had been. Something had to be done.

"Alright," Ben sighed, taking a seat behind his desk, "Joe, tell Candy I want to speak with him when he's done with the mare."

"Are you going to have a talk with Randal later?" Joe asked.

"Probably," Ben answered, "But I want to talk to Candy first."

Joe nodded and went out to find Candy and deliver the message.

"What are you gonna say, Pa?" Hoss asked.

"I wish I knew," Ben admitted, "I wish... I knew."


	5. of Faith

Candy came into Ben's office with the wary look of an animal that senses a trap but can't pinpoint where it is.

Ben knew it was in Candy's nature to run from his problems, though he had no means of guessing when the habit of flight had formed. It was an aspect of Candy's character Ben found quite puzzling. The usual cause of flight was cowardice or a sense of helplessness in the face of adversity. But Ben knew Candy better than that. Candy had proven almost from the start that he was possessed of uncommon boldness that some might call courage, though it seemed to border on recklessness to Ben. It had taken slightly longer for Ben to see what he would call courage in Candy, but he had seen it, and knew it was there. In the short time he'd known Candy, Ben had come to recognize him as a fierce fighter, bold schemer and brave man. His inclination towards flight and distrust seemed out of line with the rest of who he was, and bespoke of a tragic and painful past, even if Candy himself did not.

The deal they had struck when Candy came on board had never been amended. Candy was free to leave at any time, and Ben could fire him in the same way, with neither needing to offer the other an explanation. That had been the terms of the agreement. It was not the first time a man had asked to be free to quit at any time without explanation, but it was the rare individual who stipulated the same out for Ben. Candy's insistence on being free to quit at any time had told Ben at once that he had something to hide, that he was running from something, and used to running. But the stipulation that Ben be just as free to fire him without the slightest explanation or advance warning told him that Candy had a sense of fairness that was not entirely unlike his own.

According to both Joe and Hoss, Candy had said a couple of times now that he was going to leave, but somehow something always happened and he put it off. It was clear that Candy wasn't looking for a reason to leave, he was searching for a reason to stay.

Ben would never admit it, but that was why he'd put Candy in charge of training the young mare. Candy wasn't exactly bad with horses, but he wasn't especially good with them either, and the Cartwright method of training was new to him. In a way, he was spectacularly unqualified to train the mare. But responsibility for her gave him an ongoing project that he might just feel the need to finish before he left. And that might give him enough time to find his permanent reason to stay on.

That is, if this issue with Randal could be resolved peaceably. Ben harbored hope that both parties involved had it in them to be reasonable and to set aside their differences enough to work together. It was the adult thing to do, and they were after all both grown men.

He knew all of this, and it ran through his mind while he was waiting for Candy to come in, and continued to do so as he looked the ranch hand up and down.

Candy had this way of looking at Ben without meeting his eyes when he knew he'd done something wrong. He was looking that way now, but Ben saw something else in the cowboy's blue eyes.

"When was the last time you slept?" Ben asked gently.

The question evidently startled Candy, who for a moment looked at Ben directly, before shrugging listlessly and looking away again, saying, "I dunno. I slept a little last night maybe."

He had his hat in his hands, having picked up on the etiquette in the Cartwright house concerning hats indoors almost immediately, despite showing no evidence of having been used to it previously. He was fidgeting with the hat now, evidently bothered by something he wasn't saying in addition to his clear discomfort brought on by obvious awareness of why Ben had called him in.

"You weren't on the range today," Ben pointed out, "Everyone else who came in this morning slept most of the afternoon. Why didn't you?"

Candy made an all too obvious effort not to flinch. Evidently he'd been hoping not to have to answer that question. But he took only a second or two to compose himself and respond.

"You know I don't think it's wolves killing cattle," it was a statement, not a question.

Even though Candy had at no point brought his theory directly to Ben, he knew well enough that news got back to the ranch owner via his sons. He was also bright and experienced enough to know that, by now, the trouble between himself and Randal had become a topic of ongoing discussion and debate between the Cartwrights, and that his theory was the latest scene of conflict and therefore the most recently discussed aspect of that subject.

"Yes," Ben confirmed when Candy paused, "I'm aware of that."

"Well, I think it's dogs. I had a theory about where they'd come from that I decided to check out. So... that's what I was doing this afternoon," Candy explained.

"And did it pan out?" Ben asked.

Candy hesitated, then answered, "Not yet."

"I see," Ben nodded, "And where do you think the dogs might be coming from?"

Candy opened his mouth to answer, closed it and looked down at his hat, fidgeting with it more actively than ever, as if seeking guidance from its brim.

"I... uh... I'd rather not say," he met Ben's eyes briefly, then looked away again, "Not until I'm sure."

In that brief look, Ben was surprised to catch sight of fear in Candy's eyes. Fear of what? Of Ben? Of what he would say or do if Candy answered the question? That in itself gave Ben enough information to guess as to what Candy's theory was. He heard in the words and tone of Candy's voice that -if Ben asked again- Candy would answer the question, however reluctantly.

Ben didn't ask again. A man was entitled to have opinions and beliefs he didn't share with everybody. Ben was fairly certain he knew in this case what those were, but he didn't want to know officially. So long as he could pretend he didn't know, he could trust Candy's judgment and self-restraint. If he were blatantly informed, he might have to do something to interfere, and he didn't want to do that. If he was right about what Candy thought, he believed the ranch hand was wrong, but he also trusted Candy to figure that out for himself before acting on what he thought.

Candy was more than capable of making sudden, apparently thoughtless decisions, but when called to question on it, he always proved to have actually been very thorough in his consideration before having taken action. Ben firmly believed that he would not take action against anyone unless and until he was sure of what he was doing. Though based on his past behavior, especially at Lake Tahoe, it was very possible he would not give any warning of what he was going to do first.

Ben trusted Candy, and knew him to be loyal. But he also knew Candy was extremely independent, used to acting on his own initiative and judgment, not asking anyone's permission or opinion before he did exactly as he pleased. He was a baffling mixture of extremely competent and highly cooperative field man, and complete loner with a surprisingly vicious streak to him.

"Alright," Ben said slowly, "Get some sleep now."

"Is that what you brought me here to say?" Candy asked, clearly not buying that for a moment.

"No," Ben told him honestly, "But I don't expect to get reason out of a man who hasn't slept in days."

"It's about time to go back to the herd," Candy said, "It'll be dark in another hour or so. Wolves hunt mostly at dusk and dawn. Wolves or not, whatever's attacking the cattle now has the same habit."

"You're not going," Ben said.

"I'm not?" Candy asked, the wariness he'd shown when he first came in rushing to the surface.

"No. You're staying home tonight."

"Mr. Cartwright, I-" Candy began, but Ben cut him off before he could hear the nature of the protest.

"You want to pursue your investigation, fine. Do that. But you're no good to me asleep on your feet. I've got plenty of riders."

"But-" Candy started anew, but again Ben stopped him.

"If it is dogs like you say, I want to know it just as badly as you do. So I'm telling you to find out for me. That's your job from now on until the whatever it is stops killing my cattle," Ben said firmly, "That is not a suggestion, Candy."

Candy hesitated, looking for a way out, obviously feeling trapped without really knowing why or how it had happened. He had to know the risk of burnout, and knew he'd been overreaching his limits, and that it was affecting his ability to function adequately in any capacity. He also had to know that this was the perfect opportunity to get him and Randal away from each other, delaying the need to resolve that particular issue. But he was also clearly afraid. If he was wrong, he was wasting his time and Ben's money on a wild goose chase. Meanwhile, Randal would be continuing to earn his keep. The way Candy measured things, that put Randal ahead of him in value.

All he said was, "I understand. I guess I'll... uh... try and sleep for awhile."

"You do that," Ben nodded approvingly, then added seriously, "Oh, and Candy: if and when you find who or what is killing my cattle, be very sure you _know_ before you do anything."

Candy departed without another word, probably even less at ease than he'd been when he came in.

Ben found he hadn't really put his own mind to rest either. He found he didn't really believe in the dog theory. Wolves seemed by far the more likely explanation, and certainly the easier one to accept. Up until a minute ago, he had half suspected that Candy was letting his dislike for Randal get in the way of his judgment. But this little talk had changed his mind. It might've been pride that prevented Candy from admitting he was wrong, saying that it really was wolves and leaving it at that, dropping the investigation angle entirely, but Ben didn't believe that was what made Candy maintain his stance on the issue. The way he saw it, it was courage. Candy really believed in what he was saying, and he was willing to risk everything he had to prove it. For that, if nothing else, Ben was willing to let him try

* * *

Candy wasn't sure whether his reassignment was a punishment or a reward. He did know that Mr. Cartwright was placing an awful lot of faith in him, as well as a tremendous burden of responsibility. It was easy to have confidence in his theory when there wasn't anything at stake. But now he had been essentially forbidden from being involved in the direct protection of the cattle, and instructed to conduct an investigation which might reveal things his employer didn't really want to know.

If Candy was proven wrong now, there was more than his pride at stake. Not only would it damage his credibility as an accurate source of information, it would cost Mr. Cartwright money. It could stir up conflict between the Cartwrights and their neighbors if he wasn't careful. It might even result in the deaths of more cattle than would otherwise be killed because now time and manpower was being wasted on this other activity.

For Candy, the stakes had been high before, now they were higher still.

Mr. Cartwright knew full well that he could have made Candy reveal who he suspected, and where he'd gone this afternoon. In fact, Candy was fairly certain Mr. Cartwright knew he suspected one or more of the Lowe family. That had to look like he was letting his personal feelings get in the way of his judgment, yet Mr. Cartwright didn't demand to know, and had now given him free rein to pursue his investigation to its conclusion, trusting his judgment, self-restraint and personal skill. That kind of faith was more than Candy would have ever asked or expected of anyone, and the fact that Mr. Cartwright offered it freely scared him.

Candy trusted Mr. Cartwright, believed in the man's wisdom and sense of fairness. He was coming around to sharing the man's values and world view, though it was a significant reversal of his own. For reasons he could neither explain nor justify, even to himself, Candy didn't only respect Cartwright, he valued the man's opinion, and wanted to earn both his respect and his trust. When he'd met the Cartwrights, it had upset Candy's whole world. Quite suddenly, he found that he was loyal to someone besides himself, that he was looking out for and placing his trust in people he barely knew. He didn't know why, but it felt right somehow, even though it terrified him.

If he was wrong about this, Mr. Cartwright wouldn't have to fire him. He would leave on his own.

But Candy didn't think he was wrong.

* * *

In the morning, before sunrise, Candy rode out to the range to check on the cattle. It was evident that it was no longer merely Randal who was upset with him. The other riders clearly thought he was avoiding doing real work, leaving them doing not only their jobs, but his as well while he chased some fantasy of his own. He was sure Randal had made remarks to that effect. But even if he hadn't, it was the natural conclusion for the men to come to. They had all been out on the range last night, enduring the tension and cold of the night, while Candy stayed home, warm and safe and presumably carefree.

They regarded him with acid silence, saying nothing and fixing him with icy glares. A night of sleep had helped Candy to regain his usual composure, and he was able to ignore them, focusing absolutely on the task at hand.

The riders had been there all night long, yet even so, somehow a few cattle had managed to stray from the main herd, including a first-calf heifer and her offspring, along with a yearling. The calf and its mother were both alive, and Candy drove them out of the brush where they had bedded down, aiming them back towards the herd and relative safety. However, the yearling had been cut down.

Calves were surprisingly trusting and foolish, but yearlings tended to be rather spookish, having lost their mother's protection but lacking the sensibility of the experienced adult. This one had had good reason to run.

By the time Candy found her, the sun had come up, and he had good light for tracking.

He briefly examined the tracks around the body. It was the usual. Tracks of cattle, and tracks of a pair of canids, one with slightly larger feet and heavier body than the other. He left his horse -the chestnut gelding he preferred- near where the yearling had been slain, and went to retrace her steps, something he hadn't been able to do effectively at previous kill sites.

For the first time, he found some solid evidence, proof that he wasn't crazy.

The yearling had fled over sandy ground for almost a hundred yards before she'd been brought down. And yet, the only tracks that had been left were her own. No wolf tracks. No dog tracks. Unless ghosts were killing these cattle, someone had been erasing their tracks to conceal their involvement.

Some _one_ , not some _thing_ , was killing these cattle.


	6. of Man

Candy relayed what he had found to Hoss, who came with him to confirm the findings. Randal tagged along, after first inquiring as to where Candy had been the night before. Candy couldn't resist saying he'd been following the instructions of Mr. Cartwright, and then refusing to elaborate. It was very satisfying to respond to the accusatory tone with a clearly defined response that qualified as a real answer without actually conveying any useful information whatsoever.

Though Hoss undoubtedly knew what his father had told Candy to do, he didn't offer up an explanation to Randal. Maybe he was just trying to avoid picking a side, but it seemed like maybe he too felt rather annoyed with Randal's behavior. It certainly wasn't a secret that Candy was looking at the killing of the cattle as if they were crimes rather than the more ordinary -if inconvenient- action of a hungry predator, and Candy couldn't think of any reason for Mr. Cartwright to keep his condoning of Candy's investigation a secret. Still, he'd already decided not to mention it.

Experience had made him cautious, and he had learned to guard everything he knew as though his life depended on it. More times than he cared to count, what people didn't know about him (or didn't know he could do) had saved his life. The reverse had also been true. He'd trusted people when he shouldn't have, and they had used and abused him, before throwing him away.

"See this?" Candy pointed when they neared the spot where the yearling had started to run, "What's she running from?"

Hoss dismounted and examined the tracks for himself, carefully walking exactly where Candy had to avoid marking up the area before he was through looking it over.

"Yearlings are spooky," Randal suggested.

"Yeah, they're spooky," Candy agreed mildly, "But not _that_ spooky. That beast took off at a run, but there's no tracks of anything chasing her. No matter how far behind they were, wolves would've followed her. There should be tracks in this patch here, but there aren't until we get to the body, and then they come from the opposite direction."

"So they lay an ambush," Randal shrugged, "Wolves do that."

"Sure, sure," Candy nodded, "But what made her run? If there was a wolf back here driving her, it had to have left tracks. And wouldn't it have come to join the feast once the critter was down?"

"Maybe it circled around for some reason," Randal theorized.

"Were you dropped on your head as a child, or have you always been this way?" Candy asked.

"Candy's right," Hoss said, though it was evident he hadn't been listening to them, otherwise he might have phrased that differently, "Somebody used a piece of brush or somethin' to cover the tracks. Thing is, they also covered some of the yearling's trail. So, unless that critter took to hoppin' three-legged before she died, somebody brushed away her tracks."

"You're sure?" for the first time, there was concern in Randal's voice instead of mockery.

It was grating, but Candy understood. So long as it was Candy's theory, Randal could cast doubt on it, make jokes about it and refuse to even entertain the notion. Now Hoss had come up with evidence to support it, that suddenly made it all different. What Candy couldn't tell was if it was because Randal had some respect for Hoss' opinion and none at all for Candy's... or if he was concerned that more people than Candy were onto him.

"I'm sure," Hoss answered, "An' I don't know of any wolf that covered its tracks. Somebody told me about a wolf that learned to avoid soft ground so's it didn't leave any tracks, but I don't know as I ever believed that story. But that wouldn't explain the tracks the yearling shoulda left but didn't."

"But if that's the case," Randal hesitated, and it seemed to Candy that his brain was suddenly in operation for perhaps the first time ever, "Then it wasn't only dogs... it was somebody workin' 'em."

"More likely doing the killing themselves, then bringing the dogs in to make it look like a wolf attack," Candy said, "If dogs had crossed this patch, it would've been too hard to go back and cover their tracks completely. Besides, they wouldn't need to rope her if they were using dogs to pull her down."

"Rope?" Hoss inquired, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah," Candy reined his horse around the sandy patch and led the way to where he'd found the yearling.

It wasn't far, so Hoss didn't bother getting back on his horse, and merely led the animal. He also kept looking at the tracks all the way to the kill site. Hoss was a respectable tracker, and Candy knew he was able to see more signs of the tracks having been covered. The dog tracks all over the kill site couldn't quite conceal the fact that much of the evidence of struggle on the part of the yearling had been erased.

Unlike a big cat such as a cougar, wolves didn't kill cleanly. They ripped and tore at their victim, and death was often a slow, violent process. On small animals, they would deliver a crushing bite to break the neck or shake it to snap its spine, but an animal the size of the yearling would have to be brought down slowly because -from the kills Candy had been able to examine- wolves seldom, if ever, went for the throat of large prey, whereas cougars would often go directly for the throat.

Though the scene was bloody, probably from the dogs feeding on the kill, then walking around, playing with the remains and so on, there wasn't much evidence of a struggle. It had been a short, very contained killing, or else someone had covered up the traces of it.

But what they couldn't cover was the rubbed hair on the yearling's neck and one of her hind legs, revealing that she had been roped, thrown and tied like a calf for branding. The marks left on the hide suggested that the ropes had been tight, or that she had fought back hard. Either way, marks were left, not only in missing hair, but faint impressions on the skin itself.

"Wolves don't use rope," Candy pronounced matter-of-factly, "And neither do dogs."

"No, they don't," Hoss agreed after taking a close look at the dead yearling.

"Were any of the calves marked up like this?" Randal asked, "And how 'bout the tracks?"

"We weren't lookin' for it at first," Candy said, "We saw the evidence of mauling and the tracks around the kill site, and didn't look any further."

"But you said on the last calf you thought it was dogs," Randal persisted.

"I did, but I seem to recall someone tramping all over the area before I got there," Candy answered, giving Randal a pointed look, "Anyway, the one before that didn't have any rope marks, but I think I can explain that. Calves are smaller and weaker, easier to overpower. So it probably didn't take as long, and maybe the calf wasn't strong enough to pull against the rope hard enough to leave a mark on it."

Candy had only seen some of the calves firsthand, and this was only the second kill site he'd been able to check out before other people had been there, riding around and walking the area. That was why it had taken him so long to even get the idea of dogs in the first place. Even he had been inclined to believe it was wolves first, and he'd had no real reason to investigate other possibilities.

"Who was riding this section last night?" Candy asked.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Randal demanded.

"I want to know why they didn't hear anything," Candy replied.

"The cattle were stirred up," Randal told him, "Probably rememberin' the stampede from the night before. They never settled down, almost took off more'n once. A few broke loose from the herd and had to be fetched back," he nodded toward the yearling, "We didn't get 'em all back."

"So the rider may have left his post, and anybody could've taken his place without realizing he was gone is what you're telling me," Candy said.

"What I'm tellin' you is knowin' who was supposed to be here don't tell ya nothin'," Randal replied.

"Maybe not," Candy was willing to admit, "But it's a place to start."

"Sam and I were the two out this way," Hoss answered, "But I don't think Sam had anythin' to do with it, an' I know for sure I didn't."

Candy nodded, but didn't voice his thoughts on that.

He was inclined to agree with Hoss. He couldn't think of any motive Sam might have for the killings, nor the means. Sam, like Candy, wasn't from around here. He had no friends or family locally, and lived at the Ponderosa full-time. Not only was there nowhere for him to go with the meat once he had it, he had no dogs with which to cover his tracks as the killer was doing.

And, of course, suspecting Hoss was completely out of the question. Even aside from the fact that Hoss had no dogs, no reason to kill his father's cattle, and plenty of his own animals he could kill if the notion struck for some reason, Candy didn't believe Hoss to be capable of such an act. It wasn't merely dishonest and needless, it would be an act of inexcusable cruelty to do such a thing to his own father. Even had he not been privileged in his upbringing and able to buy virtually whatever he wanted, Hoss wasn't the kind of person who would do this, not even to a stranger and certainly not to his own family.

Even so, he felt it was important to know, though perhaps not as important as knowing the cattle had been stirred up that night, keeping the riders quite busy and probably deaf to the sound of a running yearling and horse because they would simply assume it was someone going after a stray.

"You didn't hear anyone out here?" Candy asked of Hoss.

"No," Hoss said, and all-but spoke Candy's theory aloud when he added, "An' even if I had, I woulda thought it was somebody chasin' a cow back to the herd."

"Right," Candy nodded.

"So what're you gonna do now?" Hoss asked.

"Same thing I've been doin' all along," Candy answered, "Keep lookin' for the killer."

Hoss frowned at Candy's evasion, but he didn't press the issue. This wasn't the first time Candy had pursued a course without telling anyone what he was doing or why, and Hoss had to know it wouldn't be the last either. Maybe Hoss would have handled things differently, but surely he knew that Mr. Cartwright had not only turned Candy loose by granting him permission, but actually directed him to do this. Seeking out accurate information and relaying it to his commander had been Candy's business since long before he'd ever met the Cartwrights. He was damned good at his job.

Leaving Hoss and Randal to deal with the dead yearling, Candy immediately sought out Sam. While he agreed with Hoss that Sam wasn't a very likely suspect, he wanted to know what Sam had heard, or if he'd left his patrol area at any point. He also wanted to find out if anyone had eyes on Randal at the time, but he wasn't sure how to find that out without asking directly, especially since it was clear that most of the cowboys were irritated with his absence the night before. They didn't know where he'd been or what he'd been doing, only that he hadn't been here, and that was enough to annoy them.

He was also trying to work out in his mind why the sudden change in behavior. Previously, only calves were killed. A yearling was a lot bigger. He couldn't be entirely certain, but examining the carcass led him to believe that roughly the same amount of meat as usual had been taken. It made sense. A rider could only carry so much, and dogs could only eat so much. It explained why only the best parts of the calves had been taken. If you could only carry some of the meat, take the best and leave the rest. The dogs probably ate as much as they could hold, but their stomachs were only so large.

So why go after the yearling? It was bigger, but that was actually a bad thing because that meant it was also faster and stronger. Yearlings were more apt to run than calves were, because calves would respond to their mother's relative lack of concern, whereas a yearling had only its own judgment to work with, and that tended to be very scary to a young critter.

Unless the yearling itself had been a mistake. After all, there had been a first-calf heifer and her calf out there. Maybe the rider believed he was chasing the heifer, and by the time he realized his mistake it was too late. He had to either take the yearling or nothing. Because of the stampede, there'd been no easy opportunity the night before. In chasing the yearling, the rider had taken the risk of being caught, and most people were unwilling to leave without any reward after having done something like that. This was especially true of people who would rather steal cattle than work to raise their own. People like that wanted cash quick and easy, and they wouldn't want to put in any amount of effort and not have something to show for it. It was one thing to fall on hard times and steal cattle for food, but the sheer number and obvious selection process meant this was for money, not sustenance, and people who stole cattle for that reason were -in Candy's opinion- fundamentally lazy. Therefore any amount of effort on their part sought a guaranteed reward, likely a greater one than the effort deserved.

Of course, Candy realized this was only a theory, and he might be completely off-base, but it sounded alright to him, and satisfied his mind that the nagging question had been answered adequately.

He was still chewing it over when he spotted Sam on the far side of the herd. He moved his horse into a trot and circled the herd to reach Sam without scattering the clearly still jumpy cattle.

"What happened to you?" Candy asked.

As he had approached, it became apparent that Sam sported a shiner on his right eye that hadn't been there the day before. This distracted Candy from his primary purpose.

Sam shrugged, "Somebody was a little more ticked off than you were that I stampeded the herd."

"Who?" Candy asked.

He liked Sam, but more than that, it bothered him that somebody had beat up on the kid for having made what he clearly knew was a mistake, not to mention taking justice into their own hands when the Cartwrights -the owners of the cattle and employers of every man here- had forgiven Sam after he owned up to his mistake.

"It's settled now, Candy," Sam told him, "You don't need to worry about it."

"I don't see anyone else around here ridin' around with a bruise."

"It's fine," Sam insisted, "What did you want when you came over here anyway?"

"Oh that," Candy said, remembering his purpose, "A yearling was killed last night."

"Wolves?" Sam asked, then corrected, "Or I guess you thought it was dogs, right?"

"I thought so," Candy confirmed, "Now I know."

"How?" Sam wanted to know.

"Never mind that," Candy said, "What I want to know is if you heard anything last night. You were riding the area where the yearling broke away."

"No, can't say as I did," Sam answered, shaking his head, "But we were pretty busy with the cattle last night."

"So I heard," Candy said, then pressed, "You're sure? You never heard anything, not even what you might've assumed was a rider going out to bring back a stray?"

Sam shook his head again, and when he spoke again he sounded rather embarrassed, "I might've... wandered away from my post. I was goin' after a heifer that broke and ran, and when I got back somebody had taken my place."

"Who?" Candy asked.

"It was dark, I couldn't tell," Sam admitted, "I just assumed... Candy, I thought for sure it was wolves."

"You and everybody else," Candy said.

"Except you," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah," Candy sighed, "Except me."


	7. of Peril

After speaking with Don and Hattie Gale, the couple with the wagon and lame horse, Joe had reached the same conclusion as Candy initially had. The fact that there was evidence not only of human involvement, but someone riding a horse further lifted any suspicion Candy might have had about them in that capacity. He'd seen their horses, and he didn't believe they'd be much good at roping cattle. Just because they were rather unfriendly and strangers didn't make them guilty of killing cattle.

However, what Sam had seen led Candy to think that maybe there was a suspect he didn't even know about yet. Sam admitted to having left his post at one point, and being replaced by another rider. Candy couldn't get anybody to talk to him, but when Hoss asked, all the riders denied having taken over Sam's post at any point during the night, though several of them had shuffled positions over the course of the night when the cattle moved around or tried to break from the herd. Sam wasn't exactly popular with the men just now, and probably most of them were glad that there'd been trouble on his watch.

It wasn't that Candy didn't like Randal for this, it was actually that he liked the man for it a little too much. He knew his judgment was impaired by how deeply and thoroughly he disliked Randal. And that meant he had to continue exploring other possibilities seriously even if they felt unlikely because he wasn't able to be objective.

Candy had more than once gotten into trouble because people made snap judgments about him, and accused him of things he hadn't done, assuming the worst because of a first impression. Thus Candy had developed a tendency to be a little slower in drawing his conclusions than might otherwise be in his nature. The fact that he'd once been too quick to trust people he shouldn't have had contributed to his tendency towards caution when it came to reaching conclusions about people and things.

But experience had taught him to read people, and he was accustomed to trusting his own instincts when it came to judging someone's character, though generally he tended to wait awhile to see if events bore out his conclusions. In the case of Randal, Candy had judged that he was the youngest son, eternal baby in his family, trying to prove himself a big man. That had been before Candy had been told anything about Randal's family. Randal did have two older brothers, both of whom worked on a ranch with their father. But Randal had decided to go out and work for someone else for _some_ reason, and that suggested some division in the house. Randal's challenging Candy at every turn lent credence to the thought that Randal was used to being treated as the baby. He was used to having his own talents, judgment and skills constantly questioned, and so he lashed out in kind as a way of defending himself, probably without even realizing it. It made him look very foolish, but he probably didn't know that either. Candy hadn't pegged him as the clever, subtle or sneaky type, and all of those traits were quite necessary to the killing of the Ponderosa cattle.

Candy was inclined to trust the opinion of Randal he'd held before all of this started. Since then, frustration, inadequate sleep and the near-constant ridicule Randal had heaped on him had combined to make him angry at the man. And anger had a way of clouding one's judgment.

Even if Randal was involved, if Candy's earlier impression of him was accurate, he could not be working alone. There had to be someone else. And a young man trying to prove his own worth and independence from his family did not seek help from his father or brothers. If Randal had an accomplice, Candy was almost willing to bet money that it wasn't any of the other Lowes. It was amazing how a night's decent sleep could clear one's head.

This time, Candy followed the dog tracks in reverse. Instead of trying to find where the dogs had gone, he tried to find where they'd come from. This time, being the first on the scene, Candy had managed to examine the tracks before they got trampled on by men and horses.

He didn't expect to be able to follow the tracks all the way to a campsite or anything like that, but he was looking for anything along the trail that might tell him more about the dogs or their master. For instance, if he found a tuft of dark fur belonging to a dog that had been caught on the underbrush, that would be evidence to indicate that it wasn't Liam's dogs, who were not only light colored but extremely short-haired. If he found any hoof print of a draft horse somewhere on the back trail, that would suggest his first impression of the Gales and their horses was wrong. If he could get a good feel for the general direction the dogs had come from, that might give him a clue as to where they had originated.

What he found was that the trail wound around, and eventually headed uphill. The ground was rocky, and he almost lost the trail as a result. As far back as he could track was at the crest of a rise overlooking the herd. He went to the edge and peered down. From up here, even at night, a man would've been able to see not only where the cattle were and if one broke away, he would also be able to observe where every rider was, and what each of them was doing. He would know the moment he had an opening.

The ground up on the ledge was hard as stone, and there were almost no tracks. Candy had left his horse down the slope because it would be hard work getting him up the steep incline. He suspected that the night visitor had done the same thing, especially since riding a horse down again would be a lengthy and probably noisy business. Checking the ground thoroughly, Candy found a couple scuffs that might have been made by a boot or a dog's claws, but nothing that told him much.

He looked around, and made a guess about where the horse might have been left based on where he would have left his horse if he wanted to be able to get to it fast from up here without being seen by anyone below. The guess paid off, and he found a scrap of hair tangled in a bush. It was a piece of black mane off a horse, which limited the colors the animal could come in. The most common horses with black manes were blacks and bays, though there were of course other colors. Certainly it ruled out Randal's horse, a scruffy liver chestnut with a notably red mane and tail.

The ground here was thick with foliage, and finding a clear print wasn't easy, but Candy did finally manage to locate one, which confirmed his belief that this was not a draft horse. That effectively ruled out the Gales, who had two draft animals and no other horses as far as Candy knew. So unless they were hiding a riding horse somewhere for some ridiculous reason, they were probably not involved.

However, the black mane could have come from the horse of any of the Lowes aside from Randal, as well as their foreman's dark bay. But a lot of horses had long black manes, that in itself wasn't a crime, or even particularly useful evidence on its own. But it was another scrap, and Candy wasn't above taking it for what little value it had.

When Candy made his way around to the other side of the hill where he'd left his horse, he found Randal waiting for him. Instinctively, he placed his hand on his pistol, but resisted the impulse to draw it. He was instantly suspicious about why Randal had followed him, but he knew that there could be a perfectly reasonable explanation which would not justify his drawing down on Randal.

"You think Liam's the one who was out here, don't you?" Randal asked, evidently choosing to ignore that Candy had a hand on his weapon, "That's why you went to my father's ranch. Just because you don't like me, you think my whole family's guilty as sin, don't you?"

"I never said that," Candy replied.

"But you were thinking it," Randal insisted, "That's pretty crumby, even for you."

"If it were true, maybe it would be," Candy said, "But that's all I'm interested in: the truth. And that's what you should be interested in too."

"What makes you think I'm not?" Randal asked.

"Oh come on, Randal, you're more concerned with proving me wrong than finding out what's really going on. We both know that," Candy said, "You've had it out for me from the start. I don't know why, but I do know I'm getting pretty damn sick of it."

"You know what I think?" Randal said, "I think it was you."

"Me?!" Candy exclaimed, "Why would you think that?"

"You were the only one of us that wasn't out on the range last night. You were the first one to find a dead calf. And you've done everything you can to cloud the issue by coming up with half-baked theories and using your influence with the Cartwrights to get your way."

"That is such complete nonsense..." Candy broke off, then said, "Is that really what you believe? Why? Why would I say it wasn't wolves? Why would I insist it was dogs when that would only lead the Cartwrights to suspect human involvement? Why would I be pushing this angle so hard if it was me?"

"You're the one conducting the investigation," Randal replied, "You could plant any evidence you liked, make any claims you wanted, and nobody could argue with you. Those tracks, for instance. How would somebody cover their tracks at night? It would be a lot easier to come back in daylight, cover the tracks and then bring in a couple of witnesses -including an expert tracker like Hoss- to confirm what you'd 'found'."

"I'll agree that sounds easier, if you could guarantee that nobody looked at the tracks before you did," Candy said, "But, as you so cheerfully pointed out, I wasn't here last night. Anybody could've found that yearling any time before I showed up this morning."

"I think you're a liar," Randal said, "And not as clever as you think you are. I've had enough of you."

It was unclear which of them reacted first, or why neither man went for his gun, but quite suddenly they were on the ground, going after each other in earnest. They'd had fights before, but usually after having a few too many drinks, rendering them aggressive but somewhat inept. This time they were both sober, and there was nobody nearby to stop them once they got started.

The fight was over almost before it began. Randal could be as angry and as violently inclined as he liked, but Candy had learned to fight from an early age, and his teachers had been experienced and highly trained military men. He'd fought as a means of earning respect and he'd fought for his own survival. He'd fought in defense of honor and for life. He'd fought to win, and he'd fought to kill. He knew how to judge the seriousness of a fight in the first instant, and this one he opted to end quickly because he could tell where it was going and the longer it went, the more likely he would make a mistake or Randal would get lucky.

Rather than wrestle him, Candy took the first opportunity he could to slip around behind Randal and retrieve his knife from where it resided in his boot. Catching Randal in a hold from behind by reaching under one of his arms and grabbing the back of his neck, Candy presented his blade to Randal's throat. The feel of metal against his skin halted Randal immediately without a struggle.

"Go ahead," Randal hissed, "Finish me off. I'm sure you can come up with some way to blame it on somebody else. You're good at that."

"Don't think I'm not tempted," Candy snarled back, "My life would be much easier without you in it. The next time you think about going for me, remember this," he pressed the flat side of the knife against Randal's throat, "Remember how easy this was. And remember that you're alive now for one reason, and one reason only: because I chose not to kill you."

He withdrew the blade sharply and shoved Randal away. He put the knife back in his boot while Randal shakily got to his feet and dusted himself off.

"You think this changes anything?" Randal growled, "All this proves is that you're smart enough not to commit murder a hundred yards from a bunch of cowboys who wouldn't trust you as far as they could throw you. I still think you're not who you pretend to be."

"Fortunately for you," Candy said, standing up after putting his knife away, "I don't really care what _you_ think about me. You haven't given me any reason to."

He didn't wait for Randal to respond. He went to his horse, swung up on the animal's back. He turned the chestnut around and rode away, leaving Randal alone with whatever thoughts he might have.

Candy knew he'd done a good job of hiding it from Randal, but inside he was shaking. He wasn't afraid of that kid, or anything Randal might say or do. He'd known from their first brawl that Randal had a lot of passion, but no technique and he let his emotions rule him in a fight, which rendered him all but helpless. What scared Candy was himself. It had been so easy to pull his knife, to bring it to Randal's throat, to threaten his life. The hard part had been letting go, and putting the blade away. In the heat of the moment, with every negative feeling he'd ever had about Randal crashing in at the same time as his blood heated with anger and what he believed was a fight for his life, Candy had actually wanted to go through with it. He'd wanted to kill Randal. It wasn't the first time he'd felt that way. But this would mark the first time that he hadn't run because of it.

Not only would he have to continue putting up with Randal, chances were that word would get back to the Cartwrights about what Candy had done. Randal would put his slant on it, and Candy didn't know if he would be able to talk his way out of it. He knew Mr. Cartwright was a fair man, but he was also very perceptive. Candy could say he was provoked, and that he'd never meant to kill Randal, but he was sure Mr. Cartwright would be able to see right through him, and know the truth. And the truth was that -for just an instant- he'd wanted to do it. Mr. Cartwright would know that, no matter what Candy said.

Candy had already admitted what kind of person he was once before. He had fled Olympus for this very reason. Anger ran so deep in him, and darkness was such a part of him that his only means of avoiding doing something he would regret was to run before he could give in to the impulse. Mr. Cartwright knew that. He'd probably seen it, but Candy had also admitted it aloud to him after he returned from Olympus with Joe and Hoss, who also knew.

Candy considered riding back to the ranch, and telling the Cartwrights exactly what had happened. But he hadn't actually done anything wrong, and he was reasonably sure that Randal had heard how serious he was, and would be too scared to do anything further to him. Some good might even come of it if Randal stopped making his barbed remarks. There was no reason to report the matter except as a means of revenge by getting Randal in trouble. Candy didn't want to be that sort of a person, and anyway he had work to do. He'd followed the tracks back, now he should do it forward and see if they led him to anything worth finding. He doubted it, but it was better to follow the tracks than sit on his hands.

* * *

The matter didn't reach the Cartwrights officially, at least not then. But Hoss had seen Randal follow Candy. And he observed Randal returning and looking rather embarrassed and a little bit frightened. He also noticed that there was a thin cut across Randal's neck just above his bandana that hadn't been there before.

Later, over lunch, Hoss related the incident to Pa and Joe, or as much of it as he'd seen.

"Think Randal tried to take Candy on?" Joe asked.

"If he did, he's prob'ly lucky to have come out in one piece," Hoss said, "Gettin' into a fight with Candy ain't exactly a healthy endeavor."

Candy hadn't had a long career as an employee of the Cartwrights, but so far it had seen its share of conflict, most often with Indians. Candy had proven to be a very efficient killer of men when he had a mind to be, there was nobody faster with a knife than he was. That had always been a point in his favor, as he'd used his talents in defense of his own life and the lives of the Cartwrights, but that didn't make what Hoss said any less true. If Randal had _really_ gone after Candy in earnest, he was lucky to have escaped with his life. They all knew that Randal was young enough, reckless enough and arrogant enough to have done it. And they also knew he and Candy hated each other, though it was unclear who'd started it and at this point each seemed to be egging the other on.

"Maybe he'll get some sense and leave Candy alone," Joe suggested hopefully.

"Or he'll get hot under the collar and do somethin' stupid," Hoss replied, "He looked mighty embarrassed and that ain't a feelin' that ever inspired sense in anybody."

"No, it isn't," Ben agreed unhappily, "Has Candy said anything to either of you about what happened?"

"No, Pa," Joe said.

Hoss answered, "I haven't seen him since this morning."

"I could go find him and ask him," Joe suggested.

"No," Ben said quickly, "No, I think we'd best leave things as they are for now. It sounds to me as though Randal and Candy got into a fight and Candy came out on top. There's no reason to think Candy did anything wrong, and so we've got no reason to question him. If there's a problem we don't know about it, we'll just have to trust that either he'll solve it on his own or bring it to us."

"But, Pa..." Joe began to protest, but Ben held up his hand.

"I believe Candy has been perfectly clear," Ben said, "It sounds as though he's been pushed as far as he's going to be. No matter who started it, it's Randal that needs to stop it. He needs to understand that what happened this morning was a warning, and one he should take seriously."

"Pa..." Hoss started, but Ben cut him off as well.

"Hoss, we may not know a great deal about the man, but we know Candy is no loose cannon. He does what he does for a good reason, and ignoring a warning like this one will not end well for anyone."

What Ben didn't add was that they knew enough about Candy to know how dangerous he was when provoked. They'd seen him fight, and they'd seen him kill. They had all seen what happened when he was backed into a corner. What Ben doubted was that his sons realized was Candy was cornered now.

Candy never said, but Ben knew he didn't want to leave the Ponderosa, but his conflict with Randal was pushing him to do so; it effectively trapped Candy between a rock and a hard place. Sooner or later, he was bound to lash out in some way, he didn't feel he had another choice.

"I'll talk to Randal, Pa," Joe said finally.

"Nah, I'll do it," Hoss said.

"Hoss, you and Randal may be better friends," Joe said, "But I know a little bit more about being the youngest brother than you do, and I think that may have more than a little to do with this."

"Joe, in case you forgot, Candy and Randal ain't related," Hoss pointed out.

"I know," Joe said, "And I think that may be exactly the problem."

He excused himself from the table before Hoss could ask what he meant. After Joe left, Hoss turned to his father, looking for an explanation.

Ben shook his head, and said "I wasn't the youngest son in my family."


	8. of Concern

The investigation seemed to stall out for a time. There were no attacks for several nights. Range riders had not deterred the thief, but it seemed that Candy's investigation was probably making them uneasy. That suggested that someone working for the Cartwrights was either involved or at the very least on speaking terms with whoever was. Though Candy didn't advertise what he was doing or where he would be, it didn't take a genius to figure out he had permission from the Cartwrights or that he would at some point be lurking in the dark, waiting on the outside specifically for his suspect. Evidently they knew they were being hunted, and didn't like it.

It was possible that they'd been scared off entirely, but Candy believed it to be more likely that they were biding their time, waiting for things to cool down. Cooperatively, Candy resumed his normal duties around the ranch during the day, though he was not assigned to the night watch. Getting enough sleep was a challenge, but Candy had long ago learned to sleep anywhere given the slightest opportunity, and he napped between jobs.

There were no more arguments with Randal, in fact Randal no longer talked to him at all. Then again, neither did anyone else except for Sam. The others were still annoyed with him for not working with them, they didn't realize what he was doing or what value it had. Sam probably didn't either, but he was already on bad terms with everyone because of the shot he'd fired the one night, and Candy was the only one still speaking to him aside from the Cartwrights themselves.

"They'll calm down once this blows over," Candy had assured Sam, "They're tired and they're frustrated, and people tend to get unreasonable and angry when that happens. They can't catch the cattle thief, so they're taking it out on whoever they can. Namely you."

"And you," Sam pointed out.

"And me," Candy had agreed.

Things might have continued that way indefinitely, if not for what Candy found on the road to Virginia City. He was on his way to put some letters in the mail for Mr. Cartwright, and to retrieve any mail that might have come in while he was at it.

Candy was frequently dispatched to fetch the mail. This was partially because he didn't mind the two hour or so ride to and from town, but mainly because he could be relied upon. He would return in good time, and wouldn't take the opportunity to get drunk in the saloon or go brawling. He could also be trusted to keep any curiosity he had in check and not read other people's mail. He wouldn't ask what was in the letters he was carrying. Mr. Cartwright also knew that he would not be distracted along the way by anything trivial. Candy was also willing to let the ride take as long as it took, instead of running his horse into the ground unnecessarily, though he was willing to push the pace if that was asked of him because a message was urgent. This all combined to make him the easy favorite for the job. That was especially true now, because he was the only one never on the night watch.

On the way out, Candy came upon some tracks that crossed the road. This in itself wasn't unusual. Animals crossed the road all the time, and some even traveled along it. The dry, dusty road was good material for leaving clear tracks. The reason these particular tracks got his attention was because they matched the ones he'd examined near the dead calves. They were the right size, shape and stride length.

They interested him because, unlike the tracks near the calves, these had probably not been planned. Where the other tracks had carefully led both to and from rocky areas or streams or some other means of concealment, it was very possible that these would not. They were far from any kill site. It was curiously only one set of tracks. One dog had crossed the road.

It begged the question, where had the other dog been? The rider might well have ridden along the road and Candy wouldn't be able to tell. The road was frequently traveled by men on horseback, and it was nearly impossible to tell if any of the tracks didn't belong, especially since it was not uncommon for the Cartwrights to have visitors or be riding a young horse to and from town. And anyway, telling the track of one horse from another if they were of similar size, shape, stride and wearing shoes from the same farrier wasn't easy. Candy could manage it if he really tried and had clear prints he could compare, but not on the road like this, with prints overlapping each other, some old and some new.

But the dog tracks were fresh, and were the only of their kind.

If the dog's master had ridden along the road, the dog might have been following them. Dogs had a tendency to swing back and forth across the path their master was taking, sometimes even seeming to circle him. In any case, it was worth taking the time to follow the tracks and see if they led to anything significant. Mr. Cartwright would understand the delay.

Candy dismounted and led his horse off the road. The chestnut was reluctant to make the transition from cleared road to unkempt high grass and brush, but once he'd done so he didn't put up any more fuss and Candy pretty much ignored him in favor of focusing on the tracks, which weren't as clear off the road as on it. As he'd expected, they eventually started to circle back towards the road. About thirty yards from the road, he found a tuft of fur caught on a bush.

The fur was composed of the soft undercoat that many animals sported in the winter. It was grayish and gave the impression of fluffiness, but Candy knew that was deceptive. The most significant detail about it was the length of it. It could not come from an animal with a smooth, short coat such as many hounds had. It reminded him of the wooly down shed by the sheepdogs he'd known back when he was working on a sheep ranch. The dogs in question were generally rough coated, with distinctive fur tufts on the backs of their legs and undersides of their tails, as well as longer fur on their chests and undersides.

What Candy knew beyond any doubt was that this tuft could not have come from anything like the red curs that belonged to Liam, whose coats were very short and dense. The grayness didn't say much, often animals had grayish undercoats even if they weren't that color on the outside. But, looking through the fur, Candy saw no trace of brown or gold. Very probably the animal he was looking for was either black or gray, or some mixture of the two.

Of course, that was assuming this came from the right dog.

Candy had no means of proving that, except for knowing that the Cartwrights didn't keep dogs, and none of the hired hands had a dog. It could have come from the dog belonging to the Gales, but the road was a long, long way from where their wagon was parked, and Candy didn't think the dog would be traipsing out this far, especially since both Candy and Joe had warned them to keep their dog close for fear of its being mistaken for the cattle killer and unjustly shot.

Like so much of what Candy had found, it wasn't proof of anything. He only had a bunch of probably and most likely, and none of that was enough to make a case. Candy had spent so much time and effort looking at the tracks around those calves that he was very nearly certain that these belonged to the larger of the two animals, and not some unrelated creature. It was possible this tuft of fur had been blown from somewhere else. But the dog tracks led to the bush it had been caught on, and the plant looked as though something had rubbed directly against it, as a dog might to scratch an itch, or as a way of leaving its mark. And besides, it certainly came from a dog or related animal. It wasn't proof. It barely qualified as evidence. But it _was_ a scrap.

Candy continued to follow the tracks, and it soon became evident that, if the dog had been following someone, that person had gone into town. Candy made the decision to head straight for town for two reasons. One, he didn't want to delay any longer. Two, the tracks were fresh enough that the dog (and, more importantly, its master) might still be in town.

If Candy saw a man with a dog, he knew he couldn't do anything. Having a dog wasn't a crime, and it had been near the edge of the Cartwright property that he'd first spotted the dog tracks. Even had that not been the case, the Cartwrights didn't mind if people used their roads for travel, and there was no proof this person and their dog had done anything other than that.

However, Candy might recognize the owner of the dog. Even if he didn't know them, he would recognize them in future if he saw them, and that in itself was worth something. He might even be able to ask around town if anyone knew the man with the dog, if they'd seen them around before and so on. Anyway, it was the first bit of useful information he'd been able to gather in days.

* * *

Once in town, Candy spotted what he believed to be the dog lying in the shade of some stairs. Though it was slightly smaller than Candy would have expected, it had large paws for its size. It had a wolfish aspect to its face, and its coat was a mottled gray-black, with lighter coloring on the underside.

Seeing a couple of men sharing a bench and whittling across the street, Candy went over and asked them about the dog. They told him that the dog had come in with somebody on a horse. They couldn't seem to agree as to what color the horse had been or what the man looked like. One said the horse was a bay, the other asserted it was a chestnut. Candy was inclined to think it was a bay, but about fifty percent of the horses in town were so that didn't narrow it down any. They were agreed that it had been a man at least, and somewhere around Candy's age. They couldn't seem to recall what he'd been wearing, if his hair was light or dark or anything useful such as where he might have gone.

There were two horses tied to a hitching post near where the dog was, both of them were bays. He asked the two men if either of them might be the horse. It seemed logical that the dog would park itself near its master's horse if it couldn't follow him wherever he'd gone. Neither of the men whittling seemed to be sure. The horses were tied in front of the telegraph office, but when Candy went back across the street and looked through the windows he didn't see that there was anyone inside that didn't work there.

He took a chance and approached first one horse and then the other, stroking their muzzles when they reached for him. Candy knew of dogs that would leap to the defense of their master's property, preventing potential theft. He kept a wary eye on the dog while he handled both horses, but the animal ignored him more or less completely, so he moved on.

Candy took the time to sort of stroll around town and look for any unfamiliar faces before going to deliver and retrieve the mail as he'd been instructed to. He also stopped in the saloon to ask if anybody new had come to town, and if anybody knew who owned the dog under the stairs near the telegraph office. He did have a drink out of courtesy (it was only polite to buy a drink if you were going to ask the barkeeper questions), but limited himself to one since it was high time he got back to the Ponderosa. Nobody gave him anything useful, though he did see some drifters in the saloon and any one of them might have been the owner of the dog and he wouldn't have known the difference.

Finally, though he wanted to continue the hunt around town, Candy realized it was time for him to head back. Not only was Mr. Cartwright going to start wondering about the mail, but there really was no percentage in staying in town. As he'd been careful about looking casual, and had only spoken with some locals he knew, Candy was fairly certain he'd attracted no suspicious attention to himself, but if he started questioning the strangers around town, the owner of the dog would be tipped off. So long as he didn't know how much Candy knew, he might come back to town, and Candy might spot him another day. It still bothered him that this was only one of the two dogs. Where was the other one?

It also bothered him that he felt like he'd come so close to finding who'd been killing the cattle, only to have to return to the Ponderosa with nothing except the mail. But there was no other practical solution here and now, so he gave up for the moment and headed out of town.

* * *

Candy had been riding for nearly an hour when he began to feel uneasy. He was being watched. Watched, and also followed. Candy had been stalked before. Just a short while before he'd met the Cartwrights, Candy had been stalked by Paiutes, who eventually shot his horse out from under him when he'd bolted after becoming aware of them. They had been trying to get close enough to kill him, so flight had saved his life, though not his horse.

He knew better than to check over his shoulder in an obvious way. For the moment, whoever or whatever was stalking him thought he was unaware, and therefore felt there was time to get closer, to maneuver for a better position. His awareness gave him only the advantage of his being alert to danger, listening closely to every sound, looking for quick cover to either side.

The shift in his demeanor unsettled Candy's horse. Even though Candy sent the animal no conscious instruction, it picked up on his sudden tension and increased wariness. Candy felt the horse tense beneath him, and was prepared to respond when the animal suddenly tossed its head, shying from a shadow created by the breeze stirring a tree branch near the road. At least, that's what he thought had startled the horse. An instant too late, Candy realized he'd made a mistake.

It wasn't a who. It was a what.

Springing from the brush alongside the road, the creature leaped at the rider on the horse. Powerful jaws closed around Candy's right elbow. Four paws scrabbled against the horse's side briefly, then pushed against it, using weight and leverage to rip Candy from the saddle.

The combination of surprise, pain and also the rearing of his startled horse all served to ensure Candy hit the ground, and hit it hard. The wind was knocked out of him and his vision grayed momentarily.

He knew that trying to free his right arm was no good. The jaws that had hold of him were as strong as steel, the teeth were sharp and hard, and he would only wind up causing more damage without actually accomplishing anything. So instead he reached for his gun with his left hand. At this range, even with his off-hand and black spots dancing in his vision, he could make a kill shot.

Candy only needed a second to get his pistol from its holster, but he didn't get that time. The creature had collapsed onto its side when he'd fallen, but got its legs under it. Just as he was about to pull the pistol from its holster, the animal yanked on him, as if it was trying to drag him off the road.

More as a reaction to pain than for any sensible reason, Candy tried to twist his arm free, at the same time striking the animal on the nose with the fist of his free hand. It was a worse than useless endeavor. The animal released Candy's arm, yes, but immediately its jaws snapped shut on his hand, which was much more fragile. A fresh spasm of pain from a new direction went through him as the creature jerked backwards, once more trying to drag him away.

But now Candy had a better angle, and his sense of self-preservation was connecting with his training and experience in self-defense. He got up on his knees, then threw himself over top of the creature, wrapping his right arm around its throat as he did so. He proceeded to choke it, ignoring the pain in his hand as the thing snapped at him, struggling to hold onto it as it bucked violently.

What he wasn't prepared for was the sudden intervention of a second animal. He should have expected it. He knew they were dogs, and he knew there were two of them. But he hadn't even seen the second one take off after the horse when the chestnut fled in perfectly understandable terror after the first dog leaped on it from the shadows and dragged the rider from its back.

The second dog bit at the back of his neck, and its fangs slashed across his shoulder before finally sinking into the upper part of his left arm. Instead of seeking a firm hold as the first dog had done, the second immediately released and went for him again, trying to get at his throat to finish him. Candy was forced to release the dog he'd been choking. His pistol had fallen from its holster, and that left him with one other feasible option of defense. While the first dog scrambled out from under him, Candy used his right hand to go for the knife in his boot.

The fight had lasted only a handful of seconds, but the damage inflicted was nonetheless almost overwhelming. In addition to the injuries from the bites, Candy had hit his head when he'd struck the ground. Now he was losing blood from various wounds, and his consciousness was failing him. Even so, he struck truly into the neck of the second dog before he collapsed and the world turned black.


	9. of Violence

Ben was the first to start feeling like there was something wrong. This was partially because he knew when it was that Candy had left. But it was also an instinct leftover from raising three boys. Though Candy spent little time socially with Ben, he'd nonetheless come to know the man's tendencies and habits, particularly of the work-related variety.

The last time Candy had been late with a delivery, it had been because he'd stumbled onto some crooks along the way and decided to initiate a scheme to con them into letting him join their little group so he could help catch them from the inside. Candy didn't generally ask anybody's permission or advice before moving ahead with a plan. He felt himself to be very clever, and the truth was that he wasn't wrong. His plans had been known to backfire on him, but even when things went wrong they usually worked out to the end result he'd been aiming at.

But Ben knew the risks Candy was willing to take with his life when he thought he was right about something. Just now, Candy was dead-set on finding whoever had been using dogs to kill Ponderosa cattle, and Ben wasn't sure if there was any length he wouldn't go to, especially now it was possible that his own impatience was starting to interfere with his judgment.

Candy was smart, and he was thorough, and he was experienced. But he was also young, impulsive and temperamental, and Ben was well aware that it had sometimes gotten the better of him in the past. Thus far, since he'd been in the employ of the Cartwrights, Candy had conducted himself in the manner Ben had told him was expected of a man working on the Ponderosa. He gambled a bit too much (both at cards and with his life) for Ben's preference, but he did it on his own time, with his own money, and did everything he could to make sure whatever trouble he found didn't make its way to Ben's doorstep.

Candy claimed he wasn't much for taking orders, but he'd so far never failed to follow one of Ben's.

Ben wasn't worried about Candy taking off on him, or suddenly deciding he had better things to do than deliver the mail in a timely manner. What worried him was what Candy might do if he was suddenly struck by a thought or suspicion and decided to investigate. Even if he was right, he could land himself in trouble. It was true that Candy was an excellent scout, a fast talker and a good shot, but sometimes all of that wasn't enough. He seemed to have the sense to recognize when he'd been outmaneuvered or outgunned and would surrender gracefully in the hopes of living to fight another day, but not everyone would accept that. The way Candy operated when left to his own devices, he was bound to get killed sooner or later. Sooner or later, he would misjudge a situation and all the skills in the world wouldn't be enough for him recover from it. In fact, that had already happened before, and Candy would have lost his life had Ben and his sons not been there to prevent it. It had been clear that Candy was aware of that fact. Not only had he seemed surprised to find himself alive afterward, he'd become more cautious since.

Unfortunately, he still wasn't very inclined to take advice. Or ask for help, even if he needed it. And he had a terrible habit of getting on people's bad side. First impressions were very important, and Candy's first impression tended to be of someone aggressive, careless and just a little bit self-centered and arrogant. Time had allowed Ben to see the truth, which was that what the man did showed a very different person from who he pretended to be. Unfortunately, most people never would see that, and Candy's first impressions were sometimes so bad people were apt to try and shoot him. Ben had tried talking to him about it, but Candy had made it pretty clear how he felt about fatherly lectures, even to suggesting that he'd left home because of hearing too many of them.

Given Candy's penchant for always having a snappy one liner to come back with, Ben wasn't convinced that what he'd said was true in that instance. He was at the least certain it wasn't the whole truth. Candy didn't talk honestly about his past very often, though he did offer up tidbits whenever it struck him as relevant. It was never clear to Ben if he was sharing true stories he'd experienced, or if he was merely relating information he'd picked up somewhere in the form of a good story so people would be more apt to hear him out. Ben did happen to know Candy was quick with a lie when it suited him. What he didn't know -couldn't know- was if Candy had ever lied to him.

Ben attempted to conceal his thoughts and concerns by preoccupying himself with shuffling papers on his desk. But he wasn't paying attention to them, and he suspected that both Joe and Hoss had noticed. They didn't dare say anything because they were doing a lousy job of pretending to be having a game of chess before taking a nap. They'd been out on the range all night again last night. Though there were shifts, the increased tension and reduced sleep was telling on them. It was telling on everybody. They really weren't invested in the game of chess at all.

Ben was roused from his thoughts by the sound of a horse. He didn't hear the animal come in, but he heard it neigh after it arrived. Because he was expecting Candy, Ben looked up and waited. Joe and Hoss had also looked up at the sound. When nobody came in, they glanced at each other, and then Joe got up to investigate.

He opened the door and looked out, then called over his shoulder, "Pa, Hoss!"

When they got up to see what had him so excited, they found Joe holding Candy's horse by the bridle.

The animal snorted and shied when Ben and Hoss appeared, clearly nervous. The horse was in full tack, and had the mail bag slung across the saddle horn, but it was obvious that he was lacking an essential piece, that being a rider. Joe quieted the horse by stroking his cheek and whispering to him. The chestnut made a brief attempt to back up, and in so doing showed that he was limping when he abruptly shifting the weight off one of his hind-legs and snorted again, this time from pain.

Once Joe got him standing still, he went along the side of the horse, conducting a cursory examination. It didn't take him long to spot the horse's trouble.

"Pa, he's been bitten," Joe said.

"Bitten?" Ben came over to look at what Joe had found.

On the animal's hind leg, just above the hock, there was an open wound. Sure enough, it looked like a bite mark, like what a wolf or dog might leave. It looked for all the world like something had tried to hamstring the horse, and only barely missed doing so. That explained why they hadn't heard the horse come in, he'd probably been walking slowly, favoring that leg all the way home from wherever he'd been attacked. The next question was clear, but Hoss asked it anyway.

"If the horse got bit, what do you s'pose happened to Candy?"

"I dunno," Joe replied, moving back to the horse's head, "I only saw the horse when I came out. Maybe he got bucked off when his horse was attacked."

"He may be hurt," Ben said, "Hoss, you stay here and take care of the horse. Joe and I will take the road to town and see if we can find out what happened. And find Candy while we're at it."

"Right, Pa," Hoss said, and Joe echoed that.

* * *

It was a surprisingly long ride out. Though they were alert for signs that the horse had left the road at some point, the chestnut's trail never deviated from its course, and it was easy to pick out his tracks from others because he'd let the hoof on his injured leg drag most of the time, leaving a distinct line in the dirt with every step, as well as a few drops of blood from time to time.

When they found the scene of the attack, there was no question about it. Not only was there blood, there were furrows in the ground indicating that the horse had come to a sliding stop, and whirled when he'd been bitten, trying to dislodge the thing that had hold of him. There was even an impression left of where the dog (they were assuming it was a dog) had hit the ground when the horse had landed a kick on it. Either the horse had freed himself and given a parting kick, or he'd used a kick to free himself. Either way, the dog had hit the ground and the horse had lit out for home at a dead run that had of course slowed to a limping walk almost as soon as he was clear of the battleground.

Though there were no clear tracks, the dog had obviously walked away from the scene because it was nowhere in sight. It was possible that it was done for however, depending on where the horse's hoof had connected and how hard. A blow from a horse could kill even another animal of comparable size, it assuredly could kill a dog if it had struck true.

Joe got down from his pinto and examined a portion of the tracks a little more closely. He realized Candy's horse had actually done more than just get free and run. After kicking loose, the horse had turned and reared, intending to trample his assailant. This was made clear by a deep mark in the dirt where one of the hooves had struck. The other seemed to have hit the dog or else not touched down at all because Joe couldn't find that mark. Joe shook his head.

"That horse can be just as mean in a fight as his master," Joe remarked to his father, "He wasn't satisfied just to get loose, he turned around and went for the kill before taking off."

Ben nodded, "But where was Candy in all of this?"

Joe shrugged, and elected to continue following the tracks from the ground. Obviously what had happened had happened fast, and the horse had been in flight before he'd been caught. The animal had lost his rider a few hundred yards before the dog had bitten him, and here too there were signs of a struggle, evidenced by blood and torn earth, only this time the fight was between man and beast.

The marks weren't clear enough to tell Joe or his father that the second dog had come back to assist the first after losing the bout with the horse, but they could see that a mauling had taken place, and that Candy had not gone down without a fight. But Candy was not immediately in view.

However, there were drag marks leading off the road. Something or someone had crawled or been pulled away from the scene. Joe glanced at his father, then passed Cochise's reins to him before stepping off the road carefully. He knew that any dog which had attacked Candy might also attack him, especially if it had been wounded and crawled off to die. There was little in the world that was more dangerous than a cornered animal, except one that had been hurt as well.

He'd gone about thirty feet when he was abruptly stopped by the distinctive clicking sound of a gun's hammer being pulled back. He turned towards the sound and froze. Ben also heard the sound, but couldn't see the source from where he was. His hand went instinctively to his gun, but it proved unnecessary, because the owner of the cocked weapon didn't want to kill them.

"Joe," Candy sighed quietly, and laid aside his pistol, "I thought you were... somebody else."

Candy had managed to pull himself under the road and concealed himself under a bush, evidently having intended to rest there until he was able to get up, or possibly knowing that sooner or later the Cartwrights would come looking for him and not wanting to be out in the open in case somebody else did. Whatever the case, it was immediately obvious to both Ben and Joe that he'd been badly hurt.

Candy had been torn up pretty badly. Fortunately, as Ben shortly discovered, not all the blood at the scene of the attack had come from him. When Ben moved towards where Candy was, he all but tripped over the body of one of the dogs. Candy's knife was stuck in its throat up to the hilt. Though it had managed to stagger off the road, it hadn't gotten far before it succumbed to its wounds. The dog was a big red cur dog with a black muzzle, and Ben knew where he'd seen one just like it before.

Ben figured that could wait. First he made his way to where Candy was lying. Joe had already knelt beside Candy and was examining him. When Ben got around where he could see, he winced at the sight. Candy had clearly been bitten repeatedly, losing a lot of blood. He was obviously in pain, and when he looked at Ben it seemed like his eyes didn't quite focus like they should.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Candy said quietly.

"No," Joe replied, sitting back with a heavy sigh, "It's a lot worse."

"You should see the other guy," Candy told him, "Or... dog rather."

"I did," Ben interjected, "And you're right, you're a darn sight better off than he is."

"I guess somebody felt like you were getting too close," Joe commented.

"Nah," Candy shook his head slightly, "That wasn't it."

"It wasn't?" Joe inquired, "What makes you say that?"

"Because the dogs that attacked me aren't the ones that have been killing the cattle," Candy replied wearily.

"How do you know?" Joe asked, "You've never seen them."

"No, I haven't," Candy admitted, "And I s'pose I don't really know, not to prove it anyway."

"We'll worry about that later," Ben said, "Right now, let's get you to a doctor."

"Mr. Cartwright," Candy spoke steadily for the first time since they'd found him, and he met Ben's gaze forthrightly as he continued, "I was right about it being dogs and not wolves. And I'm right about this. This had nothing to do what's happening to your cattle."

"Who would want to kill you, especially with dogs, if not the man using them to kill our cattle?" Joe asked.

Candy frowned, and didn't answer. It might've been because he was tired and hurting and not thinking too clearly. But Ben didn't believe that. There was a look in Candy's eyes, like he knew exactly why he'd been attacked. And then Ben remembered what Candy had said when he'd first been set on the trail of the calf killer. He'd said he had a suspicion that he didn't want to share. Now Ben knew what it was, and why he'd kept it to himself.

The question was, what had changed Candy's mind?

* * *

Given the nature of Candy's injuries, and their severity, it was decided that the best thing to do would be to take him home and have the doc come out and check on him. Candy was a mess alright and he was thoroughly spent, but he wasn't exactly at death's door.

Candy had ridden double with Mr. Cartwright. Even if they'd brought an extra horse, it was unlikely he would've been able to stay on it.

Randal was in the yard when they rode in. Evidently he'd helped Hoss with Candy's horse while Mr. Cartwright and Joe were gone, and hung around. He looked nervous, and pounced almost as soon as they arrived.

"Who did this?" Randal asked, catching Buck's reins to keep the horse still while Candy dismounted.

"It was really more of a what," Candy responded tiredly, not interested in dealing with Randal just now.

"Stop trying to be funny, Candy," Randal spat, "You know who did this, don't you?"

"What do you care?" Candy asked, leaning against the rail of the hitching post to maintain his balance.

The two Cartwrights looked at each other, neither of them any more eager to answer Randal's question than Candy was. As they started to dismount, Randal approached Candy.

"Tell me, Candy," he said, gently touching Candy's shoulder.

"Get off me!" Candy spat, pulling away, staggering slightly as he did so, "We're not friends, and I've got nothing to say to you! So just... just leave me alone."

Joe caught hold of Candy when he started to lose his balance.

"Come on, Candy," Joe suggested, "Let's go inside," Joe shot an uneasy look at his father.

Before they'd left the scene, they'd both taken a good, hard look at that dog, and agreed that they both knew where it came from.

Without doubt, the dog belonged to Liam Lowe.


	10. of Purpose

The mail was of course long forgotten. Concerned about the second dog that might still be out there, and more worried by the potential master of said animal, Ben didn't want to send one person alone to ride into town and retrieve the doctor, but he was adamant that a doctor should take a look at Candy. In the end, he sent Hoss with Sam. Joe went out under the pretense of taking care of Buck and Cochise, but it was obvious he actually wanted to keep an eye on Randal.

They all knew those cur dogs belonged to Liam, but Randal was the one who'd had a problem with Candy. Nobody else in the Lowe family had any reason to dislike him. Even if it had been Liam that set the dogs on Candy, it had to have been because of Randal, and he had to have known. At least, that was the logic Joe was following now.

Meanwhile, Ben stayed home, and did his best to clean and stabilize the various wounds Candy had sustained. It was easy to dismiss wounds inflicted by animals, particularly domestic ones, as minor. But the fact was that the only reason Candy had survived aside from his own skill at doing so was the reality that -like most dogs- they had gone for the arm first. Not only had they had to unseat him from his horse, they'd gone for his hand or arm more than once, whereas a wolf was very likely to go for something softer. Wolves went for the throat, face and midsection when they went for the kill, and thus tended to inflict much worse wounds.

But cur dogs trained to hunt and protect property typically went for restraint first, and moved on to the kill when they encountered prolonged resistance and/or the absence of other instruction from their master. Candy had seen no man or horse on or near the road prior to the attack, suggesting that the dogs had been set on him from a distance and then left to finish their work on their own. Probably there had been no expectation that Candy would survive, much less kill one of the dogs in the process. Credit had to be given to Candy's ability to fight and to keep his wits about him under trying circumstances, even more than Ben at first realized.

The bite to his right elbow should have been a disabling hold, in a similar way to having one's arm twisted. This was especially true once he'd hit the ground. Ben found a gash on the back of Candy's head in the midst of a lump where he'd struck the ground, as well as bruising on his back from having hit the ground hard. The worst damage was probably to his left hand, which had also been bitten, but there were slashing bite marks all over his arms and shoulders, in addition to the deep holding bites that had cut to expose the bone in some places. The injuries were anything but minor.

A close brush with death didn't seem to have taken Candy's edge, however. He was worn out yes, but his sense of humor was intact, as was his focus and reason.

"You know, nobody's ever tried to kill me with dogs before," Candy said brightly, "Arrows, bullets, knives, somebody even tried pushing me off a cliff once... but not dogs."

"Should it concern me that a high percentage of the people you meet seem to end up wanting to see you dead badly enough to try and kill you?" Ben asked.

"Mr. Cartwright, I wouldn't presume to tell you what to be concerned about," Candy said, "It doesn't concern me, but then again I know why they were trying to kill me."

Ben decided not to ask about that, and instead asked, "And you think you know why someone was trying to kill you this time."

"Oh yes," Candy nodded, then winced and closed his eyes briefly as his headache was aggravated, "In fact I should've seen it coming. But I guess I've become a little too trusting lately."

It was hard to think of Candy as being too trusting. He was always the first to become suspicious or wary of a situation, the first to assume that someone might have an angle. And he was usually right.

"Candy," Ben said as patiently as he could, "I want you to tell me: why would Liam Lowe want to kill you?"

"Oh he wouldn't," Candy replied nonchalantly, "In fact, I don't think he had anything to do with it."

"They were his dogs, weren't they?" Ben knew full well that at least one of the dogs had been, but he decided to pursue his line of questioning in a non-aggressive manner.

"Yes, they were," Candy answered, and irritatingly did not elaborate.

"But you don't think Liam had anything to do with it?" Ben inquired, then added, "Why not?"

"Well because there's no motive," Candy said, "When I was out at the Lowe ranch the other day, Liam pulled one of his dogs back when it got to harassing my horse. Now, either he was tryin' to teach the dog to keep clear of horses or else he didn't want it to bother me. Either way, why would he then turn around and set his dogs on me and the same horse he pulled them off before? That seems a little backwards, doesn't it?"

"Perhaps, but that was then," Ben pointed out, "Things have changed some since."

"Yes, they have," Candy admitted, and the look in his eyes suggested that he realized Ben knew he'd had a very real, very dangerous altercation with Randal, but he didn't say so, "Still, if he wanted to kill me, why not just shoot me? Easier, cleaner, safer for his dogs."

"Alright, let's say I follow that as far as it goes," Ben said, "Who do you think set the dogs on you? Surely you don't think they attacked you unprovoked?"

"Attack a man on horseback they had no reason at all to dislike miles off their land?" Candy all but scoffed, "No. That's not what dogs do."

"Spend a lot of time around dogs?" Ben asked.

"Enough to know they're not stupid," Candy said.

Ben sighed, realizing Candy was in his usual careful and indirect way guiding the conversation towards something he thought was important. Or perhaps in this instance he was trying to steer away from something he didn't want to talk about or admit. Ben decided Candy had exercised his patience enough.

"So who set the dogs on you?"

Candy sighed, and briefly closed his eyes to shake his head in that way he had that suggested he was amused, but also surprised by the continuing mental density of the people around him. It was a habit which annoyed Ben. Come to think of it, a lot of things Candy did annoyed him, and nearly all of them centered around the man's tendency to showoff how clever he was, playing games before telling what he knew; ever challenging, ever testing, always with some hidden motive.

"Well, I've annoyed a lot of people this week," Candy continued when Ben refused to be goaded into responding to his lengthy pause, "But who do you think is the angriest with me? I didn't tell you this because I thought it was settled, but Randal and I had a pretty serious fight recently, and I pulled a knife on him. I didn't hurt him any, but he knows I could have if I'd wanted to. He knows I suspected him and his family of killing the cattle. He's been out to his father's place twice recently, including the day after we fought. I pulled a knife on Randal, Mr. Cartwright. Now, who do you think would take that as a reason to want me dead?"

Candy gazed steadily at Ben while he thought it out. Once he realized it, it seemed like it had been obvious all along. Not only who it had been, but why as well.

Seeing in his eyes that Ben had it, Candy dropped his gaze, then nodded slightly.

"Yeah. I thought it had to be," Candy said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Cartwright."

"So am I," Ben replied.

"Now what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to go and get a confession from the man that did this, and then I'm going to bring him in to Virginia City to be arrested."

"You don't have to, you know," Candy told him quietly, "This could just go away. As soon as my horse can carry a rider again, I could ride out, and you could pretend none of this even happened. Nobody would ever have to know."

"I would know," Ben said, "And so would Joe. And Hoss too."

"It's just me," Candy said, "I have this effect on people, in that they usually try to kill me. You pointed that out yourself. If I were out of the picture-"

"He would still be an attempted murderer," Ben told him firmly.

"True..." Candy said slowly, and by his tone it was clear he didn't entirely agree on some point.

Ben sensed a 'but' coming and let his impatience get the better of him, "Well, go on, spit it out."

"Well, Mr. Cartwright," Candy began, "I don't know a great deal about family ties... see, I haven't got any. But, if I'm not mistaken, his son being in danger is a plenty good reason for a father to kill a man."

The way Candy had phrased it made it very difficult to argue with him, even though to Ben's mind it wasn't at all that simple. It wasn't as if Candy had been holding a gun to anyone's head at the time, or even been threatening to do so in future. Still, Candy had easily cut out all the details of the surrounding circumstances and brought the base elements to the surface.

If roles were reversed, and one of Ben's sons were suspected of killing cattle, he certainly wouldn't set out to murder the one doing the suspecting. But, on the other hand, Ben didn't like deception. He didn't like being lied to, and he didn't like people keeping things from him. And there was no telling what Randal had told his father about his fight with Candy. Even if he'd said nothing, the tell-tale scratch across his throat spoke volumes. When his sons were threatened or hurt, Ben did tend to lose sight of reason and react emotionally, often with violent intent.

Candy was staring at him again, a steady look that held as much challenge as query. He was looking for how Ben would respond to his words. It was as if Candy could never entirely believe that Ben was the kind of man he appeared to be. At every opportunity, it seemed like Candy was ready to test Ben's morals, to test his tolerance, his patience and his authority. He tended to do it with a playful bent, but Ben knew that there was a dangerous edge to Candy.

Ben knew that Candy was looking for something and someone to believe in. So far, Ben seemed to have his respect, trust and loyalty, but it was clear that all of that could be lost in an instant. If that happened, at best Candy would leave. At worst, he would turn on the Cartwrights like a rabid animal. Ben had known even when he invited Candy back to the Ponderosa that the man was dangerous. But he was also convinced that it was worth the risk. Candy was worth it. However, when Candy was being pushy and annoying as he was now, it could sometimes be a little difficult to remember that.

Ben just had to remind himself that this cleverness, this sharp mind and razor wit was exactly what had made Candy so valuable on the trail where he'd found Ben and the others. Sure, he could be a little abrasive, and seemed to enjoy playing mind games, but that had to be looked at as merely the cost of having him around, though Ben hoped that some of those rougher edges might smooth given time.

For the moment, however, Ben had to figure out how to answer Candy. Not only because a response was needed for Candy to make whatever internal decision he was working on now, but also because Ben himself needed to carefully consider and decide what he really believed rather than dive into this thing with anger at the forefront of his mind.

"It's true a man becomes capable of doing almost anything when his son's life is directly threatened," Ben answered gradually, considering each word before he said it, "And he might be excused for a lot of things if that is the case. But that does not apply here."

"Doesn't it? I _did_ pull a knife on Randal. Some people would call that a direct threat."

"I wasn't there, and I don't know what happened because neither you nor Randal has seen fit to tell me about it. But what I do know is that you had the opportunity to kill Randal, and even a passable motive for doing so," Ben said, "Now, it's my opinion that the two of you could have worked out your differences without resorting to violence. But in that moment, I can't say whether or not you were justified in what you did. But I do know that you didn't kill Randal when you could have. Instead, you let him go. Had it been my son..."

"You'd be very angry," Candy interjected when Ben paused.

"Yes, probably so," Ben admitted, "But I would also know that you had made a clear choice not to kill, meaning there was no reason to resort to murder. It is perfectly obvious to me that you have no intention whatsoever of killing Randal at present. I would still know that even if your fight was with Joe or Hoss. I might handle it differently, I suppose, but I would not resort to attempted murder."

The answer appeared to satisfy Candy. What wasn't clear was if he'd been looking for further insight into Ben's character, or a deeper understanding of where the line between right and wrong was, or perhaps he just wanted Ben to acknowledge how he would feel in the reverse situation. Perhaps he was in some convoluted way looking to hear that he'd done the right thing in letting Randal go by seeking out information as to what -in Ben's mind- constituted a justified killing versus murder.

Whatever Candy's reason for pushing as he did, Ben had become convinced that the man never said anything idly.

"Still," Candy said, with a lightness to his voice that was more irritating than anything, "You and Edward Lowe have been friends for a lotta years. What he did doesn't just erase all that."

"No," Ben agreed with a heavy sigh, "It doesn't."

Apparently that was as far as Candy intended to take this line of reasoning, because he did not suggest letting Edward Lowe get away with it a second time. Perhaps he figured that had already been addressed earlier in the conversation. More likely, he realized that it would not be right or fair to tempt Ben a second time. The fact that Candy had brought it up in the first place told Ben that they both knew what was the right thing to do here. Ben also knew that Candy's offer had been genuine, even though he suspected the younger man would have been disappointed in him if he'd accepted, and not just because it would end with Candy leaving the Ponderosa and Cartwrights, perhaps forever.

Despite his often bad manners, he habit of getting into brawls and his tendency to get himself on the bad side of sheriffs all over the country, Candy actually seemed to have a very well developed sense of right and wrong that was not dissimilar to Ben's own. But knowing the difference wasn't the same as living it, and Candy seemed to never quite believe anyone actually did the latter.

Having raised three boys in his life, Ben was good at recognizing when one of them was looking to him as a role model, an example of good and proper behavior. That was the way Candy was starting to look at him now. Bit by bit, he was opening himself up to a new way of life, a new way of thinking and being. He was starting to think about letting his rougher edges be smoothed. That wild look which used to be so much a part of him was gradually beginning to fade, letting the truth of who he was start to shine through. He was starting to trust Ben with who he really was.

It was what Ben had hoped for and wanted, but the thought of it unnerved him a little. It was a lot of power to have over a man, especially one as potentially dangerous as Candy could be.


	11. of Right

By the time the doctor arrived, it was late. Ben decided there was no percentage in his riding out in the dark. Best to wait until morning. Given what he would be facing in the morning, Ben elected to stay home and leave the cattle problem in the hands of his sons for the moment. It didn't help to stay home, he still couldn't sleep. For more nights than he cared to count, Ben had been kept up worrying about his diminishing herd. But tonight he had all new concerns that made the others seem minor.

Finally he gave up on the idea of sleep and went downstairs.

Candy was still on the couch, lying down and sleeping fitfully now. The doctor hadn't stayed very long, just long enough to give them instructions and check the work Ben had done before giving his approval. Candy had seemed moderately annoyed by the whole process. Either he didn't like being the center of attention (unlikely) or he was uncomfortable with people making a fuss over him, especially when he felt they were making a big deal over nothing.

It was true that those dogs had nearly ripped him to shreds, but as far as Candy was concerned he'd won his life in the fight, and all he needed now was a little time to heal. Ben had to wonder how many times before now Candy might have crawled under a bush for shelter while recovering from injuries sustained. Certainly as a lone drifter in the desert, he must have had to survive that way.

The idea of anybody trying to help him, or offering to protect him when he needed it seemed less offensive to him and more utterly foreign. He didn't know what to do with it, or how to react.

For what seemed the hundredth time, Ben found himself wondering what kind of life it took to forge a man like Candy. He was such a mixed bag of traits that it was difficult to get much of a handle on who he was and what his intentions really were. He seemed to know it, and prefer it that way, despite the fact that this was often the cause of trouble for him with employers, coworkers and the law.

On the other hand, Ben had known Edward Lowe since Joe was little, before Randal was even born. He would have thought he could predict the man's actions. Everyone who knew Ed knew his tendencies, his likes and dislikes, his habits and his beliefs. He'd never been cagey about any of that. His bluntness and solid predictability were two things Ben had always liked. Ed had a way of making everything simple, clear and easy to understand. If anyone had asked him, he'd've sworn Ed simply wasn't capable of anything so rash, so foolish or so vicious as what Candy had suggested.

And yet... Candy made a compelling argument without really saying anything, and Ben found himself believing the hired hand he'd met only a few months ago over his own judgment on a man he'd been friends with for many years. Or maybe some part of him had already known but not wanted to believe what Ed was capable of when it came to his sons because he didn't want to contemplate what lengths he himself would go to for one of his boys.

It made him uneasy to realize how Candy had known so quickly and with such certainty not only that it was Edward Lowe, but also why he'd done it. Candy himself had no family Ben knew of, and if he did he certainly didn't seem to care much about them. In the time he'd been here, he'd sent no money, and taken time to visit no one. He'd been offhand and dismissive when it came to family, and the interactions between Ben and his sons seemed to both amuse and puzzle him, as if they were wholly strange. So Candy couldn't have drawn on his own vast personal experience for this particular knowledge. No, the fact was Candy had realized it because of what he'd seen from Ben during the time he'd been here. He knew how close Ben was to his sons, and Candy knew what it would mean if anyone tried to get between him and his boys. It was the closeness of the Cartwrights, and in particular the bond the father felt for his sons, that told him all he needed to know.

Ben knew he would be wiser, more cautious and more inclined to use the law... but the fact was he hadn't always been that way. It had actually been at Adam's prodding that Ben had begun to trust in the law instead of his own strength. The wild west wasn't as wild as it had been when Ben arrived, but it had taken his eldest boy going to college and coming back not only with knowledge but the ability to articulate it to get him to see that. None of Ed's boys had ever gone to college, nor had any of them taken much interest in civilized society. All three of the Lowe boys were rough and tumble, and believed in the law of club and fang as much as their father did, and as Ben once had.

It seemed a lifetime ago that he'd lived that way, but Ben knew it hadn't really been so very long ago. He also knew that, at the time, it had been necessary, because law and order hadn't made it out this far back then. Why, less than eight years ago, Virginia City hadn't even had a sheriff. There had been no law in that town except what a man could make for himself. There were certainly still towns like that, and towns with corrupt and evil men running them. But the world was changing, a new way of life was being conceived and birthed out here in the west. Ben didn't like some of the changes, and he wasn't sure what the future was going to look like, but he did know he wanted to help make it a good one, not only for himself and his boys, but for everyone.

And that meant defending what was right and fighting what was wrong. Not just when it was easy, not only when it was convenient, but whenever and wherever he could. It wasn't hard to know that's what he intended, and it wasn't difficult to say. But when it involved an old friend such as Ed in the way it did now... that was when it became difficult. Really difficult. Not because it was hard to see what was right or wrong as sometimes was the case, but because it was all too easy to tell which was which and he didn't like the answer.

It would be so easy even now, so terribly, cruelly easy, to simply fire Candy, send him on his way and pretend this had never even happened. Candy would accept it, in the way he always seemed to accept it when life wasn't fair to him. He was used to people turning on him, so used to it that it not only didn't surprise him, it didn't even really offend him. He'd ride out and be gone as if he'd never been. He wasn't like a Cartwright, who would turn right around and go after Lowe -not for his own pride- but in the defense of what was right. Candy wouldn't do that. He was used to running to survive.

But as Ben had said earlier, _he_ would still know. And, more importantly, his boys would know. They would know he had ignored the law. Worse, they would know he'd ignored what was right for his own personal gain. They would know that he had knowingly laid aside his values for what he wanted, and what was easiest. They were old enough now to make their own decisions, and not need their father to be a constant example of what kind of men they should aspire to be. They were old enough they would not be able to respect his decision. And they were independent enough that they might fight him on it. But it would be far worse if they didn't, because then they too would be ignoring the right in favor of their own wants. Ben didn't want that for his boys, no matter how painful the alternative was.

This was so much bigger than just Candy, and the man knew it, just as he'd somehow known not to blame wolves for killing the calves. Candy had risked the respect of his peers, and even Ben and his boys when he'd pursued his line of investigation. He'd done it for the same reason Ben now had to go see Edward Lowe. He'd done it to find the truth, because it was the right thing to do. It was no simpler and no more complicated than that. Candy knew it then, and he knew it now. And so did Ben.

Before dawn, Ben tired of wrestling with his conscience and went out to saddle his horse. Though reluctant to leave his stall so early in the morning, especially after having worked hard for so many nights patrolling around the herds, Buck was quiet and cooperative when Ben led him out. The faithful buckskin had been Ben's preferred horse for many years now, largely due to his amenable disposition and steady temperament. The horse was calm, easy going and very trainable.

The sky was gradually turning gray when Ben rode out of the ranch and headed for the Lowe place. Despite concerns the day before that the dogs and their master might still be out, now that Ben knew the who and the why, he wasn't worried.

* * *

Candy hadn't intended to sleep through the night, but he didn't wake up until Joe and Hoss came trailing in, looking worn-out from the night before and quite ready for the breakfast Hop Sing was no doubt preparing in the kitchen.

Candy sat up stiffly, blinking slowly and half-baffled by the light that came streaming through the living room window. Every inch of him felt beat up and bruised, but he didn't feel anywhere near as bad this morning as he had the day before. He vaguely recalled talking very intensely to Mr. Cartwright about something, but he wasn't clear on anything that had happened after the attack itself.

"'Morning, Candy," Hoss greeted him, noticing he was sitting up, "Glad you could join us."

"Yeah, you were really out last night," Joe remarked, "Didn't expect to see you sitting up until sometime next week."

"Think you can make it to the breakfast table?" Hoss asked, "Or should we carry you?"

"I... uh..." Candy faltered, "I'm not hungry. You go ahead."

He'd eaten with the Cartwrights many times, but this was the first time he'd been invited to their table. He wouldn't have expected it, but it made him feel uncomfortable. Shyness wasn't normally something Candy could be accused of, but that's what it felt like when he thought about going over there to the table. It was different out at a hotel or on the trail. Out there, he was just a hired hand and they were his employers. Out there, he felt free to act any way he liked. But at the table, it would be a family meal, and he would be a guest, and he was scared he wouldn't remember how to behave.

Hoss either sensed this, or else knew Candy was lying about being hungry.

"Well, so long as we don't tell Pa," Hoss suggested, "I guess we could eat breakfast here in the living room."

"Yeah, if Hop Sing'll let us," Joe replied.

"I'll go try the idea on him," Hoss said, and headed off for the kitchen.

In the meantime, Joe took a seat in the chair nearest to the fireplace.

"How'd it go last night?" Candy asked.

"Badly," Joe replied, "After hearing what happened to you, every man out there was as nervous as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs. Frankly, I'm surprised nobody fired a shot, they were all so spooked at every shadow. Bunch of nervous men on nervous horses in the dark tryin' to keep a herd of nervous cattle contained." Joe said.

"It's amazing how terrifying dogs can be," Candy remarked, "I seem to recall some jokes bein' made at Sam's expense about shootin' what he thought was a wolf."

"Sam found another dead calf this morning, and nobody's laughing now," Joe told him, "Not at Sam... or you. "

"Not even Randal?" Candy inquired.

"Especially not Randal," Joe confirmed, "Though I can't see why Pa's letting him keep working after what happened yesterday. You could've been killed."

"Well, you're not wrong there," Candy admitted with a tilt of his head, "But I think maybe he's letting Randal keep workin' because there's no evidence he had anything to do with that, or even that he knew about it. He looked pretty shaken when he saw us ride in yesterday, that I do remember."

Joe ignored the implication that Candy's memory was a bit hazy for the moment and said, "Maybe he was surprised to see you alive."

"Maybe," Candy said, "But I don't think so. And neither does your father. And it wouldn't be right to fire a man for somethin' he hadn't done and knew nothing about, would it?"

Joe frowned, looking unconvinced, so Candy persisted.

"I don't recall bein' fired when that deputy from Olympus came walking through your door not long after I came on to work for you. In fact, I seem to recall no small amount of evidence suggesting I was guilty of murder. But you and Hoss stood by me, and so did your father."

"You were innocent," Joe pointed out.

"So I was," Candy said, offering Joe a small smile, "And I think you'll find that Randal is too," here he paused uncertainly before adding, "That is, if you try lookin'."

* * *

The sun was well and truly up when Ben arrived at the ranch house. The design of the house, location of the barn and corrals was similar to what Ben had on the Ponderosa. As Ed's friend when he started up his ranch, Ben had been encouraged to make some suggestions, many of which Ed had taken.

He was about to go knock at the door when he saw Liam coming around from behind the barn, looking preoccupied, worried and unaware of Ben's presence.

"'Morning, Liam," Ben called.

Liam looked up, clearly startled. But there was no wariness or fear in his eyes, no sign that he felt he'd done anything wrong lately or that he had any reason to see Ben as anything other than a friend. Perhaps Candy was right, and Liam had nothing to do with it.

"'Mornin', Mr. Cartwright," Liam said, pulling off his work gloves and putting them in his pocket before coming over to shake Ben's hand, "What brings you out this way at this time of day? Those wolves still getting at your cattle?"

"Not wolves," Ben corrected coolly, "Dogs."

"Dogs!" Liam said incredulously, crossing his arms, "What makes you think it was dogs?"

"I'm afraid I didn't come here to discuss that," Ben said, "Is your father around?"

"He's out on the range with the cattle. I should be out there too, but Duke's missing and Baron's out behind the barn cowering. He's wedged himself between the wall and a trough, and I can't get him to come out," Liam frowned, "He's got blood on his muzzle too. I thought maybe they'd tangled with your wolves and been outmatched, but since you say it was dogs..." he trailed off.

"No, it wasn't wolves that attacked your dogs, or dogs either," Ben said slowly, "It was Candy."

"What!?" Liam shouted in what clearly sounded like both shock and anger, "WHY!?"

"Because they attacked him first," Ben replied evenly.

"No, not my dogs," Liam growled, "Not unless he was after the cattle. Not without my say so."

"No?" Ben asked, "Don't they take commands from anybody else?"

"Pa and John; Randal's tried but they don't take him serious so they sometimes don't pay attention..." Liam broke off sharply and shook his head, "But what's that got to do with-"

"Liam," Ben said, "I think your father set those dogs on Candy, and I think I know why."

"Why?" Liam asked skeptically, clearly unhappy with this line of conversation.

"Well I'd like to ask him about it," Ben told him, "You're welcome to come along."

"You couldn't stop me if you tried," Liam snapped, "Lemme get my horse."


	12. of Courage

As Liam had said, his father was out on the range with his foreman, James Winston. Ben recognized them from a distance by their horses, Ed's coal black and Winston's dark bay. Ed was just as able to recognize his son and Ben as they approached, and it was immediately clear that he wasn't overly pleased to see them, particularly Ben. For the first time since Ben had known him, Ed tried to pretend he felt differently than he really did. Even though it was clear that he wasn't glad to see Ben just now, he tried to pretend that he did. But Ben had known Ed for far too long to be fooled, and they both knew it.

"Hello, Ben!" Ed called, turning his horse and nudging the animal forward to close the distance between them when Ben reined Buck to a halt, "What brings you way out here so early in the morning? One of your ranch hands was out here the other day, sayin' you had trouble with somethin' killin' your cattle? You catch the critter?"

"I'm not here about any cattle," Ben replied curtly, foregoing any pretense of pleasantries, "I'm here because that ranch hand, Candy, was attacked by two dogs yesterday."

"Dogs? Are you sure it wasn't wolves?" Ed inquired, trying to sound casual even as fear clearly crept into his voice, and what seemed to be shame prevented him from looking Ben square in the eye as he normally would have, "Marauding wolves have been known to kill men."

"It wasn't wolves," Ben said firmly, "But you already know that."

"Me?" Ed spluttered, "Why would I know anything about-"

Ben cut him off, in no mood for games, "You were the one that set those dogs on him."

Winston had been silent until now, but he broke in with a protest of his own, "Mr. Cartwright, what would make you go an' say a thing like that?"

"Candy killed one of the dogs," Ben answered, "And that dog came from this ranch."

"Are you sure?" Winston asked, still clearly disbelieving.

"Jim," Liam broke in, "Duke's still missing. When have you ever known Duke to miss breakfast?"

"Well never, but-" Winston didn't get to finish because Liam interrupted.

"Pa... why? Why'd you set my dogs on Candy? Why would you do that?"

"Because I had to, son," Ed replied, and in his eyes there was a pleading for understanding, "I had no choice. It was the only way to get rid of him."

"What do you mean you had no choice?" Ben demanded, his voice cold and angry, "What did Candy ever do to you?"

"Not to me, Ben," Ed told him, "To Randal."

Liam looked shocked, appalled and almost as if he were drowning in his confusion, "Pa! Sure Randal and Candy had fights, every weekend in the bar practically... but to kill him over that? And why use my dogs to do it if it was so necessary? Why not just shoot him an' be done with it?"

"Because, son," Ed explained, "That'd be murder in the eyes of the law. But a couple of wolves or feral dogs? Especially since everybody knows Ben's been havin' a problem with wolves of late..."

"My dogs, Pa," Liam exclaimed, "You used 'em to murder a man! Pa, _why_!?"

"Because, if I didn't..." Ed answered, staring desperately at his boy, seeking understanding, "... he was gonna kill Randal, Liam. Sure as a wolf kills cattle, he was gonna kill my boy."

"What?" Liam breathed the single word, seemingly unable to process that.

"Candy wasn't going to do any such thing," Ben said firmly, "He and Randal didn't like each other, and I'll admit Candy did suspect Randal of being involved in the killing of my cattle, but nobody was going to kill anybody. Not until you got involved anyway."

"You weren't there, Ben," Ed argued, "You weren't there when my boy rode in all cut up and bruised after that hired hand of yours nearly killed him. You didn't hear him when he told me about it. He was scared, Ben! My Randal ain't never been scared of nothin' any more than your Joe has. He told me your hand was tryin' to pin the blame for this dogs killing cattle nonsense on us. When he confronted Candy with his suspicion that Candy was the one really behind it, the man tried to slit his throat."

"Wait, back up," Liam interrupted, "Did you say Randal accused Candy of killing the Cartwright cattle? To his face? And lived to tell about it? He shouldn't have been scared, he should have counted it as a miracle to have come away with his head still attached."

"That one is a might sensitive about bein' accused o' things," Winston observed mildly, "Tends to rile him up somethin' awful. 'specially if he ain't guilty."

"If he were guilty, we wouldn't have lost another calf last night," nobody had noticed when Randal had arrived, or from what direction, and they all started at the sound of his voice. There was momentary silence as he rode up to join the group.

"How could you do it, Pa?" Randal asked angrily, "I never asked you to, and I didn't want you to."

"He attacked you, son," Ed protested.

"I went for him first," Randal snapped, "Pa, when I came to you, I was scared an' angry and confused. But most of all, I was embarrassed. After I left, Joe came and had a talk with me, an' I realized I'm damn lucky to be alive after what I done. He let me live... an' you tried to kill him for it."

"Tried?" Ed asked.

"Candy survived," Ben said simply.

"Well no wonder ol' Baron's hidin'," Liam said, "He thinks he's in trouble 'cause he didn't do what he was told," when Ben gave him a hard glance for changing the subject, he shrugged sheepishly.

"Ben, I want you to know, my boys had nothin' to do with this," Ed said.

"No we didn't," Randal put in, "But you sure did, Pa."

"Randal's right," Ben told him, "Whatever you thought your reasons were, you attempted murder. Even if Candy was the dangerous killer you've made him out to be in your mind, this would still have been the wrong way to handle it. I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you in to the sheriff."

There was a moment of hesitation and silence. Ben was out here alone, but Ed had two sons and his loyal foreman present. If they decided they didn't want to let him bring Ed in, there wasn't a thing he could do. But Ed was a bigger man than that, and he'd raised both his boys better.

"Alright, Ben," Ed said, with a miserable nod of assent.

"We'll go with you, Pa," Liam said, glancing at Randal, who nodded.

* * *

"I never thought my father would do anything like that."

After explaining to Sheriff Roy Coffee what he was bringing Edward Lowe in for, and assuring him that it wasn't a joke, Ben was headed back to the ranch. To his surprise, Randal was riding with him. He'd expected Randal to either stay in the sheriff's office with his father or ride back to the Lowe ranch with his brother Liam. Instead, he was tagging along with Ben.

He continued, "I mean, this is the same man that told me that if I quit running my mouth in saloons I'd stop having bar fights. When John and Liam got steamed up about my fighting with Candy, he told them to take a breath, and try realizin' that he wasn't the root of all the trouble, that I had a hand in it too," Randal shook his head unhappily, "I just can't believe he'd say all that, then turn around and try to kill Candy himself."

Ben was silent for a number of seconds, before he finally said, "Well, you know, Randal, sometimes fathers... they get a little overprotective of their sons, and in so doing, forget all the wisdom they ever learned. It's easy to get... so caught up in trying to protect our children that we... we lose sight of the fact that sometimes they have to make mistakes on their own, and live with the consequences. I think that may be what happened to your father."

Randal was quiet for awhile, chewing that over.

Eventually, he asked hesitantly, "You think Candy will understand that?"

"I know he does," Ben replied with confidence.

"How can you know?" Randal asked.

"Because he was the one who figured out who attacked him. He was the one who realized you had nothing to do with it, not knowingly anyway. To do that, he had to realize what your father's motive was," Ben said reasonably, "I think he knows a lot more than he lets on sometimes."

"I'm figuring that out, Mr. Cartwright," Randal admitted, "I thought it was just arrogance... but Candy's really in a class by himself."

"Yes, he is," Ben nodded.

They rode on in silence for several minutes before Randal spoke again.

"Mr. Cartwright... do you think... could Candy forgive my father? Do you think that's possible?"

"That I don't know," Ben admitted, "Forgiveness for someone who tried to murder him is asking a lot of any man, even if he understands why they did it. Or maybe even especially if he understands why."

Randal nodded, then spent the next fifteen minutes staring down at his saddle.

Ben understood why Randal was asking. It wasn't that he expected it to do his father any good for Candy to forgive him legally speaking, but that he knew it would be eating his father up inside. Ed knew what he'd done was wrong, no matter how he might have tried to justify it to himself. Randal had also seen that, in this instance, Ben was standing by Candy. Candy's forgiveness might be the first step to trying to salvage what was left of a friendship. At least, that's how it looked to Randal.

But Randal was young. He had a lot to learn about both friendship and forgiveness.

Still, Ben himself wondered whether or not Candy had it in him to forgive Ed for what he'd done. As Ben had said, it was asking a lot. But the alternative was for Candy to stay angry, and probably eventually become bitter about it. And there was no telling how that might affect his behavior and thinking. Ben had seen what bitterness could do to a man, and what a bitter man could do to others. He didn't want that on his ranch, especially not coming from someone he already found to be unpredictable at the best of times. He wasn't looking to exonerate Ed, or pretend what he'd done wasn't evil plain and simple, he just thought there was already enough bad blood between Candy and the Lowes, and it needed to stop somewhere. But he knew also that it might be asking more than Candy could give.

* * *

Back at the ranch, it rapidly became apparent that Candy wasn't thinking about the recent attempt on his life at all. Randal had either been too embarrassed or too scared to actually come inside the ranch house with Ben, and instead he volunteered to take care of the horses.

Candy was still on the living room couch when Ben came in, which was hardly surprising since the man had no compelling reason to move. Candy had been balancing a book on his knee using what had to be termed as his 'good' arm seeing as it had taken the least damage and reading, but he looked up when Ben came in.

"How'd it go?" Candy asked, somehow managing to look and sound both like he already knew the answer and as though he were genuinely curious.

"You were right," Ben said, "It was Ed Lowe. Apparently, he was convinced you were trying to kill his son and he hoped that, by setting the dogs on you, he could make it look like an accident."

Candy nodded thoughtfully, then said, "Sounds about right. How'd Liam take the news about his dog?"

"Well enough, all things considered," Ben answered, surprised that was the next question Candy had, "I think it was pretty clear to him that you had no choice."

Candy frowned, shaking his head, "Having killed that dog doesn't feel right."

"It _was_ trying to kill you," Ben reminded him, "I don't see that you had any choice."

"Maybe not, but that dog was no more guilty than a loaded gun. It was just being used," Candy avoided looking at Ben when he added, "I know a thing or two about bein' used."

Ben knew he had an opportunity to say or ask something, but he couldn't decide between asking Candy if he was still angry and explaining that being bitter about the incident really wouldn't do any good before Candy changed the subject.

"I think there's a good chance I could catch who's been killing those calves tonight."

"Really?" Ben said, not able to say anything more intelligent because he was still on the previous conversation and wasn't prepared to switch topics so abruptly.

"Oh yes," Candy said, taking Ben's tone as a dubious one, "Though the odds would've been better last night if I'd been awake."

"How so?" Ben asked, giving the bandage on Candy's left hand a significant look.

"Everybody on the ranch knows I was mauled yesterday," Candy said cheerfully, as though he were discussing the weather or perhaps a delicious recipe for cake, "Bad enough that Hoss and Sam went to fetch the doctor. And everybody knows I'm the only one pushing the non-wolves angle on the killings. With me out of the picture, nobody's gonna be lookin' for any riders or dogs that don't belong. If I'm right, and somebody working here knows that, he'll have passed it along to his partner. They'll be bolder, and possibly careless. And they'll never see me comin'."

"What do you mean?" Ben asked, "I distinctly recall that you're not to do any heavy lifting for three weeks or so."

"Exactly why they won't see me coming," Candy said, "They'll assume I'm stayin' home."

"Which is exactly what you should do," Ben pointed out.

"And miss this chance to catch the thieves red-handed? You've gotta be kidding," Candy scoffed.

"Candy," Ben shook his head, "It's not as if you got a splinter. You were nearly killed. Your hand was broken in two place, the doctor said you're lucky not to have a concussion, not to mention muscle damage."

"Yeah, don't I know it," Candy remarked dryly, "But there's nothin' stoppin' me from sitting a horse or usin' a pistol. That's all I need for this."

"You intend to steer a horse and use a gun with only one hand?" Ben inquired.

"It wouldn't be the first time," Candy said, "And at least this time it's just my left hand. Believe me, I wouldn't be volunteering for this if it'd been my right. I've been accused of bein' reckless before, but I'm not suicidal. I wouldn't bring it up if I didn't think I could pull it off."

"Candy..." Ben shook his head, "I can't ask you to do this."

"Look, Mr. Cartwright," Candy said, the humor leaving his eyes for a moment, "I've had just about enough of being given the run around. I'm tired. And I'm frustrated. And -besides- you've already given me my orders. You told me to find these people and stop them. All I'm tryin' to do is finish what I started."

Ben sighed, "Alright, Candy. But be careful."

"I'm always careful," Candy replied with a grin.


	13. of Guilt

One thing Candy had not taken into account when he hatched this particular scheme was his horse. The chestnut gelding had been injured by the dogs. Even if the horse would let Candy ride him, Candy refused to risk further injuring the animal. It wasn't his habit to ruin perfectly good horses. So rather than take the gelding, Candy took the mare, despite the added complication and risk of using her.

The mare wasn't used to being ridden at night, and she tossed her head in protest when Candy led her out of the barn. When he tried to start her forward, she at first didn't want to go, snorting and side stepping instead of moving forward. Candy's former life had given him a lot of experience at riding horses in the dark, even over unfamiliar country. He let his easy confidence influence the mare and calm her. He spoke to the mare quietly and rubbed her neck, waiting for the tell tale sign of her ears flicking back to listen to him before again trying to nudge her forward. This time she went.

It wasn't absolutely black out there, the moon overhead provided ample light and Candy's eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly. The mare wasn't blind in the dark either, in fact Candy was pretty sure she could see better than he could. What had her spooked was merely that this wasn't the normal way things happened in her limited experience. She was only used to bearing a rider in daylight, and for some reason she found it scary in the night.

Candy knew that the herd Joe and Hoss were riding on had gone to another valley. The shadows there would provide ample cover, but clouds moving in to cover the moon would be even better. The herd Joe and Hoss were riding was hit more often than the one Ben was watching over because of their habit of picking shadowy areas like valleys or spots near tree lines. Ben's herd was out in the open flat. There were other herds, but they were likewise out in the open. Hoss and Joe were riding the herd that hung around the fringes of the range that had been set aside for the cattle, and thus were most apt to be attacked. That was why there were so many range riders out near that herd, not that it had done any good so far.

Once she was underway, the mare quickly seemed to figure out that riding at night wasn't really so scary as she'd thought. She was no barn raised beauty, she'd grown up on the range with other horses, so there was really nothing strange to her about the darkness. She knew what made the shadows near the trees, at least enough not to be afraid. She knew the sound of the wind blowing across the grass at night, and the sound of crickets and hooting owls and other creatures of darkness were not so strange to her as she'd acted.

Most importantly however, Candy had been working with her for long enough that she'd learned how to read him. She knew his moods and recognized his hand on the reins and her neck. She trusted him. And now he was going to have to trust her not to do something foolish once he was preoccupied, because the plain and simple fact was that he could not control her and deal with the calf killer at the same time.

He did his best not to let that make him nervous on the ride out, because if he was nervous the mare would be too, and a nervous horse was mighty hard to predict or control. He had to believe that nothing was going to go wrong in the hopes that the mare would sense it and believe it too. He didn't believe in mind reading, especially not for horses, but if he could read someone's intentions just by looking them in the eye from across the room, how far fetched was it that a horse could tell what the person sitting on their back was thinking and feeling? In Candy's experience, it might as well be mind reading.

The ride out to the valley had a few stops and starts when the mare suddenly remembered to be frightened and had to be settled out again, but they reached it in one piece, and Candy selected a ridge from which he could see the herd and the range riders. He couldn't have told Joe from Hoss at that distance in the dark, but fortunately he didn't actually need to.

He knew how many riders were supposed to be out on the range, and he did a quick headcount. Everybody was present, and there wasn't anybody extra. In the previous location, Candy had been forced by the lay of the land to hang too close to the herd and too low on the ridge to see everything. But he suspected the real reason he'd failed up to now was that the calf killer knew he was there, and knew he was looking for them. Someone was tipping them off.

Now certain it was not Randal, Candy had a suspicion as to who it had to be. Someone relatively new to the Ponderosa, someone who either inherently felt he needed the extra money or else was easily manipulated into thinking so. Someone who would believe nobody was _really_ being hurt by the loss of a few calves, that the Cartwrights were so big and powerful they'd hardly know the difference. Someone inexperienced and impulsive enough not to realize how good he had it here. That could be a lot of people. The Cartwrights had quite a few hands hired on just now, and a lot of them were young, many of them were new to the area, and a lot of them were looking to make a quick buck so they could get their life plans started or just order an extra round of beer at the saloon.

Heck, that described over half the men on the payroll, Candy included.

He didn't get the time to narrow down the list of suspects because he caught sight of the perfect opportunity presenting itself. A cow (presumably young) with a calf had moved far enough away from the herd that she was out of sight from ground level. Candy repositioned to get a better view of her. As he moved along the ridge, the cloud cover suddenly swept across the moon and plunged the world into almost complete darkness. Candy realized that the time was now. He turned the mare to the right and she did as he asked, sliding down the slope with only a brief snort of protest. Once they were on relatively flat ground, he kicked her sides and she plunged into a gallop.

He knew the range riders would hear him, but he wasn't sure if they would realize what they were hearing. Anyway, it was dark enough and he was far enough away that they wouldn't be taking any shots at him, even if they did think he was an intruder.

The sound of his own horse galloping covered the sound of any other horses, but when the clouds parted for a moment, he saw the calf killer. They had taken the opportunity just as he would have had their roles been reversed; breaking cover and cutting the calf away from its mother. They were in the process of moving the calf further away when Candy came upon them. He cut right in front of them and yanked the mare to a sliding stop before dropping the reins and grabbing his pistol from its holster.

"Hold it right there," he commanded.

The rider started to draw up his horse's reins, and Candy pulled back the hammer.

"I mean it," he growled, "Don't give me a reason."

Candy heard other riders coming, having been attracted by the sound of his horse galloping past them in the dark, but he didn't expect the closest of them to ride smack into the side of his mare. The mare squealed and reared as the newly arrived rider tackled Candy and brought them both to the ground. Candy's pistol went off as he went down, but he had no idea whether it had hit anything or not. Candy hit the ground hard on his left side, the other man on top of him. The pain of his jarred injuries momentarily disabled him. The moment he heard the man speak, he recognized Sam.

"Go!" Sam shouted to the rider Candy had been holding a gunpoint, "Run!"

Candy bucked underneath Sam and freed himself enough to smash the other man's nose with his elbow. Sam let out a yell and fell back, freeing Candy to rise to a kneeling position. He'd dropped his gun when he fell, but it hadn't fallen far from where he'd landed and he picked it up, leveling it at the fleeing rider. He never got a shot off, because Sam interfered.

"No!" Sam shouted, slamming into Candy again and sending them both sprawling.

"Get off me!" Candy twisted in Sam's desperate grip.

He was still trying to buck Sam off when the other riders reached them. Sam was then unceremoniously lifted up by Hoss. But by then it was too late, the other rider was long gone.

"Dammit, Sam!" Candy snapped, "What's the matter with you?"

"He's my brother, Candy," Sam replied miserably, still held by Hoss, "I couldn't let you kill him."

"I was tryin' not to!" Candy exclaimed, slamming his pistol into its holster, "What is it with everybody thinkin' I want to kill anybody I don't like!? Is there some kinda sign hangin' over my head that says I enjoy killing whoever happens across my path? A warning published in the local paper? What?"

Sam didn't answer, instead cringing and staring at the ground until Candy had stopped talking. Joe, having arrived at the same time as Hoss, offered Candy a hand up, which he accepted before dusting himself off and angrily going in search of his hat, which had been knocked off in the scuffle. In the meantime, Hoss set Sam down on the ground.

"S'pose you start talkin'," Hoss suggested, "And tell us from the beginning just how you got into this."

Sam hesitated, casting a fearful glance in Candy's direction, then regarding the large hand still clamped around his upper arm in order to prevent any attempt at escape.

"Well... uh... it was... it was actually Roy's... idea," Sam admitted.

"Roy Coffee?" Joe said in clear disbelief.

"No, no... Roy... my brother... his name is Roy," Sam explained, then reluctantly continued on, though his voice gradually became steadier as he finally admitted the truth, "You see... veal's in high demand in Carson City right now, and they'll pay good money for even a little. So... so Roy started figurin', and decided that... we could... um... take calves off the Ponderosa."

He stopped as Candy returned with his hat. Candy ignored him, pretending to be preoccupied with getting every last trace of dirt off his hat. Candy was still annoyed, but more shaken that yet another person seemed to think he was some kind of psychopath that took any excuse to kill. Especially since he knew Sam, and he'd thought he got along with the boy rather well. Apparently he'd been wrong.

"It was only supposed to be a few at first," Sam went on when it became apparent that Candy was not going to do anything to him or even speak to him, "Calves go missing and get killed all the time. We'd kill a calf, take all the meat Roy's horse could carry and then wipe away our tracks. We turned the dogs loose toward the scent, knowing they'd follow it and gnaw on the carcass, hiding that we'd butchered it with knives and leaving tracks that seemed to belong to a wolf."

"Only Candy didn't see it that way," Joe ventured.

"No," Sam agreed with a shake of his head, "I told Roy we were takin' too many calves, that things were getting too hot... but he didn't listen. Even when I told him Candy knew it wasn't wolves... he said... said nobody would believe some drifter over the evidence."

"We _were_ pretty ready to believe it was wolves," Joe admitted.

"'specially Randal," Hoss said.

"I told Roy we should... should stop... or at least find some other ranch," Sam shook his head, "But he wouldn't hear it. He said he could handle Candy," Sam shook his head yet again, then looked at Candy for the first time since being caught, "But he never saw you fight. He hadn't seen you... he didn't know," Sam looked at the ground, "What he did know was that... that I wanted to stop," he looked at Joe, then Hoss, then back at the ground, "See, I guess I was getting to like you, and working on your ranch. And I realized... that somebody _was_ getting hurt. Roy knew it, so when I suggested we back off, he thought I was just getting cold feet."

"You weren't shooting at any wolf that night," Candy said, "You thought you were shooting at a dog."

Sam nodded, "I wanted out. I'd told Roy to back off, but he wasn't taking me serious."

"And it wasn't any of the range riders that slugged you," Candy persisted, "It was Roy."

Sam nodded, "He knew I'd been aimin' for one of his dogs. Even though it turned out to be a coyote, and I also missed... he knew what I'd meant to do, an' he was mad as hell."

"But he did back off," Candy said.

"When he knew the Cartwrights were listenin' to you," Sam confirmed, "But then he heard you'd been injured. He figured we should get while the getting was good, then light out once you were better."

"I'm afraid it doesn't pay to underestimate what Candy's capable of," Joe offered.

Having learned all he wanted to know from Sam, Candy wandered away, looking for the horses. The calf had rejoined its mother, who'd decided that she didn't much care for all these people and their noises and headed back to the herd. For some reason, the shot had only startled the animals without starting a stampede, possibly because it was far enough away that it only moderately concerned them, or possibly just because they couldn't be bothered to run away this time. One never knew with cattle.

Sam's horse had taken off, but the mare Candy had been so worried about spooking had only gone a few hundred yards before coming to a rather confused stop. She startled at his approach, but then recognized him. She came up to him and nuzzled against his shoulder. It was his bad shoulder and consequently it hurt a bit, but Candy didn't mind. At least he knew that all the work he'd been putting in on this mare was beginning to pay off. When he'd first started working her, she would have been half way to San Francisco by the time he caught up with her.

As he was leading her back however, she suddenly snorted and shied from something on the ground. Candy quieted her, and then knelt down. What he found was a dark stain on the grass. The mare had smelled fresh blood and that had alarmed her. Candy's shot must've hit something after all, though of course he couldn't know if he'd hit the man, the horse or perhaps one of the cattle. For all he knew, he could've shot Sam's horse, considering that he hadn't exactly been in control of where the gun was pointing at the time it had gone off.

It was too dark to see and follow the trail, but Candy tried briefly anyway. It told him enough to know that he'd either hit Sam's brother or else the man's horse because of the direction it led. Getting a sudden idea, Candy got up on the mare's back and headed off in the direction Roy had disappeared to.

"Where are you going?" Joe asked.

"To finish what I started," Candy replied.

"I'm goin' with you," Joe insisted.

Joe left Sam in Hoss' capable hands and retrieved Cochise from where he'd left the pinto. Candy didn't wait for him, but as he was riding slowly it didn't take Joe long to catch up.

"You can't follow tracks in the dark," Joe asserted.

"I don't think I'll have to," Candy replied mildly.

"Oh no?" Joe inquired.

"No," Candy said.

Joe sighed in frustration.

Candy knew Joe hated it when he was cagey. Joe also didn't like Candy's indirect way of approaching issues. Joe preferred honesty and open communication. Sometimes a little too open, far as Candy was concerned. Joe was prone to getting himself into trouble by displaying his temper in a rush of words he didn't necessarily mean when he got angry or upset. Joe also had a tendency to show his hand to the unscrupulous and reveal his intentions too quickly to the dishonest. But that was part of why Candy liked him. There were no angles with Joe. What you saw was what you got.

But even though Candy really did like Joe, it was sometimes fun to mess with him because of how openly he showed how he felt. It was also fun because Joe did think of himself as being clever, and it amused Candy to out think him. Though it actually amused him even more when Joe managed to figure out what he was playing at. Joe did so now, after he'd let go of his irritation and started to think.

"You hit him, didn't you?" Joe asked, "When the gun went off."

"I hit _something_ ," Candy confirmed, "Whether it was Roy or his horse, I'm bettin' he won't get far."

There was a hole left in the brush near the tree line where the horse and rider had crashed through in their escape. Candy nudged the mare through it, even though she was reluctant to venture into the shadows. From there, the trail was lost. But the landscape provided a good clue because it sloped up steeply just a little ways in. Candy imagined that a shot man or horse wouldn't want to go up because it would be too hard. Instead they would turn. He made his guess and turned the mare.

Joe didn't ask what made Candy think they'd turned this way. He had too much respect for Candy's skills as tracker, scout and point man to think it was just a pure gut instinct. It wasn't really. One way the ridge bulged out and would force a rider to angle back towards the open part of the valley. The other way they would be heading right away from the herd and any pursuers. Candy might pick the first direction himself because anybody could see which was the easier route, but he was counting on Roy not being that smart, or having had the time to think his action through.

The guess panned out. It was too dark for Candy to see the prone figure on the ground, but the mare either saw or smelled him because suddenly she stopped and tried to dance off to the right, away from the thing blocking her path. Candy stopped her and dismounted.

"It's Sam's brother," Candy reported.

"He still alive?" Joe inquired.

"Yeah. Barely," Candy said.

"Wonder where the dogs are," Joe said, glancing around.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Candy replied calmly, looking up at Joe from where he knelt beside Roy.

"You do remember being mauled by dogs recently, don't you?" Joe asked.

"Sure," Candy said, with a wry grin, "But not those dogs."


	14. of Resolution

"You're sure about this?"

"Oh yeah. I'm sure."

Joe shook his head skeptically, but he swung the corral gate closed anyway and latched it behind him. Candy, leaning on the corral fence, grinned confidently. Joe thought that confidence was misplaced. If it was, it was going to cost Candy plenty. But Candy didn't look a bit worried about that, and it wasn't Joe's job to stop him from wasting his money if that's what he wanted to do with it.

A week had passed since Roy and Sam had been arrested. Sam had been more than willing to tell the sheriff everything he'd told Candy and the Cartwrights. When he woke up, Roy (Sam's brother, not the sheriff) was incredibly upset with him. Despite being badly shot, he managed to get up enough strength to try and beat up his brother. Roy Coffee decided that there would be none of that and moved Sam to the cell where he had Edward Lowe locked up. Ben had already asked for leniency where Sam was concerned. Not only had Sam changed his mind about stealing the Cartwrights' cattle, he was also shaping up to be a find cowhand, or so Ben claimed.

Even though both Sam and his brother asserted that they had done all the catching and killing of the calves, a hunt ensued for their dogs. The general consensus seemed to be that dogs who had eaten from the carcasses of cattle would also kill them. And these dogs were apt to go wild without their masters around, and that was more dangerous still.

In the end, only one dog was found, and that one by Liam Lowe, who insisted the dog was good and no threat to anybody or anything. But the other ranchers in the area were unconvinced. It was Candy who finally developed a plan to prove that Liam was right in a way that would satisfy the ranchers, who had been threatening to come and kill the dog some night when Liam wasn't around.

Now in the corral Joe had just shut was the dog and a young calf. Because the Lowe ranch had so few calves to spare, it was a Ponderosa calf, one Candy had promised to pay for if it should come to any harm from the dog.

The shaggy, gray-black and fawn dog was large, with even bigger feet which suggested he had even more growing to do before he was done. Moreover, he had a distinctly wolfish aspect to him, especially in his face and way of carrying himself. In fact, there was little to convince Joe that he wasn't a wolf, except possibly his way of interacting with men and horses, and the fact that animals who would be afraid of wolves but were accustomed to dogs didn't seem disturbed by his presence, which meant they viewed him as a dog.

Still, dog or wolf, Joe was pretty sure that the animal would go after the calf the second his back was turned. To make the test harder, the dog had not been fed since the day before, and would be left alone without human presence or interference for an entire night.

The calf was already bawling for its mother, being much too young to handle being alone. Its cries of distress would attract every predator for miles. Joe knew of stories about wolves that had killed cows and sated themselves, then attacked the cow's calf not because they were hungry, but because the calf bawled. It was well known by hunters that the sounds of a distressed prey animal was as good as hanging a sign telling every predator in earshot that there was a free lunch to be had. Even the most cunning of wolves could be lured in by the sound of a young animal in distress.

If that dog had any potential to kill calves, all that bawling would make him show it.

Just now, the dog was lying in the dirt, panting in the warm spring air, ignoring the calf entirely. Joe was convinced it wouldn't be there for a heart beat after he and Candy left.

"Ready to go?" Joe asked.

"Sure," Candy replied.

They turned and headed back towards the ranch house.

"Y'know, I don't get you sometimes," Joe said.

"What'd I do this time?" Candy asked.

"Edward Lowe," Joe reminded him.

"Oh," Candy said flatly, "That."

When Candy had been summoned to the sheriff's office to give his statement about what had happened to him on the road between the Ponderosa and Virginia City, what he'd had to say surprised everyone.

"Sorry to haul you in like this," Roy had begun, "But I've gotta get some of these facts straight before the circuit judge gets here. Saves time and hassle down the road."

"Anything I can do to help," Candy had said, "What do you need from me?"

"I need you to tell me what happened," Roy explained.

"What happened when?" Candy had asked feigning innocence so completely he almost had Ben -who had come with him- believing it.

"The mauling," Roy persisted.

"Somebody get mauled?" Candy inquired.

Roy had looked up from his papers, stared hard at Candy, then looked at Ben, then back at Candy in disbelief.

"Yes," Roy said, " _You_."

"Me?" Candy scoffed, "Where'd you get a funny idea like that?"

Roy looked at Ben, his expression asking if Candy was serious. Ben had only shrugged helplessly.

"Son, if you weren't mauled," Roy said slowly, nodding towards Candy's bandaged left hand as he spoke, "What did that to your hand?"

"This?" Candy lifted his hand, looked at it as he rotated it, then looked back at Roy, "Well, you see, I fell off my horse."

"A fall from a horse broke your hand?" Roy asked, not sure whether to be amused or annoyed.

"Oh no. No," Candy shook his head slowly, "That happened later."

"When you were bitten by a dog," Roy insisted.

"What dog?" Candy asked.

"There _was_ a dog, wasn't there?" Roy asked, trying to keep his exasperation at bay.

"When?"

Roy had opened his mouth to speak, then sighed and shook his head.

Things had deteriorated from there. Candy was the only real witness, and also the victim. But Roy couldn't get him to confess that he'd been the victim of anything, much less a mauling by two dogs. Candy denied having any conflict with Edward Lowe. Finally, Roy did back him into admitting that he'd killed one of Liam Lowe's dogs.

"And why did you do that?" Roy asked, thinking he was finally getting somewhere.

Candy shrugged dismissively and said, "Seemed like the thing to do at the time."

"And why was that?" Roy persisted, feeling success was finally in his grasp.

"Well..." Candy hesitated for the first time, right before he obliterated that feeling of success Roy was having, "I guess... because I was mad," he glanced over at Ben, "Mr. Cartwright, do you s'pose that's why people keep taking me for the murdering kind?"

"Candy," Ben replied, "You don't need to do this."

"Do what?" Candy asked.

"Lie," Ben said, "You don't need to protect Edward Lowe."

"Who's protecting Edward Lowe?" Candy demanded to know, "I'm just tryin' to figure out why I'm here."

"Candy," Roy said, then continued once he had Candy's attention, "What made you mad enough to kill the dog?"

"Well, it's really kind of embarrassing," Candy told him, "But the thing is... I was having kind of a bad day. And when I fell off my horse... well..."

"You decided to stab a dog," Roy concluded when Candy trailed off.

"Yes," Candy said.

"You realize that could be considered a crime, to stab another man's dog without just cause?"

Candy shook his head and frowned, "I doubt the dog's owner will be pressing any charges."

He was right, of course. When it became evident that Candy wouldn't testify to being attacked or having any disagreement with Ed Lowe that could have led to such an attack, Roy was forced to let him go free. Roy didn't have any choice: even though it was known to all the Lowes, the Cartwrights and to Candy what had really happened, only Candy could've done much to prove it. In fact, Candy's stubborn (if roundabout) denial of the facts was enough to interfere with Edward Lowe's attempt at confession. After all, if the victim denied ever having been attacked, it was pretty hard to build a case that they had been, even if the attacker claimed to have done the attacking. Of course, Candy had known all that long before he went into Roy Coffee's office that day.

"I don't get why you let Ed Lowe go," Joe said.

Candy shrugged, "Seemed like the thing to do at the time."

"He tried to _kill_ you," Joe persisted.

"So he did," Candy agreed with a nod, but his tone was dismissive, as if it didn't especially matter to him.

Joe was quicker on the uptake than Roy Coffee, and realized almost immediately that he was being given the run around, and that Candy wasn't going to give him any answers.

So he simply shook his head and repeated, "Sometimes I don't get you."

"What I don't get," Candy replied cheerfully, "Is how you can shoot so well using your left hand. But that don't stop you from doin' it, does it?"

Joe started to respond, then smiled and said, "No. No, I guess it doesn't."

* * *

Joe and Hoss had quit early that day. They were still recovering from having spent so many sleepless nights out on the range. But Ben stayed up on the pretense of doing paperwork at his desk. Candy was also staying up, sitting in the living room and reading. He'd been doing that quite a bit since he'd been mauled. Since he couldn't work, he needed something to occupy his attention. Having seen Candy's interest in the books on the first day after he'd been mauled, Ben invited him to come and read in the living room whenever the notion struck, assuring him that he was always welcome to do so.

Ben suspected that Candy was staying up not because the book he'd picked up was so fascinating, but because he couldn't sleep. He'd presented a lot of confidence that the dog out there wouldn't hurt any cattle, but underneath he had to be worried, especially since he had more than money riding on this. He'd been right so many times recently, he was due to be wrong about something. Finally, Ben admitted to himself that he wasn't really focusing on the paperwork in front of him. He sat back in his chair and sighed tiredly. The sound brought Candy out of his book.

"Tired?" Candy inquired, though it was really more of an observation.

Ben grunted, then said, "When I first started building the Ponderosa, I never imagined there'd be so much paper involved."

Candy grinned, but not without sympathy, "I hope I never have to worry about that."

Ben nodded, rubbing his eyes and stretching.

"You know," Ben said as he eased back in his chair, "There's something I don't quite understand."

"Is there?" Candy asked, closing the book and laying it aside.

"You don't like Randal," Ben said.

"Not especially," Candy replied.

"And you don't like Liam or John," Ben continued.

"They tend to side with Randal in bar fights, an' John throws a pretty mean punch," Candy said by way of confirmation.

"And you can't possibly like Ed, seeing as he tried to kill you," Ben went on.

"I s'pose you could see it like that," Candy admitted.

"You had the opportunity to make Ed pay for his crime," Ben said.

"I did," Candy agreed.

"It would've been the honest thing to do. And most people would agree that it was right, including people who liked Ed Lowe," Ben told him.

"You could see it that way," Candy said slowly.

"I _do_ see it that way," Ben said, "Frankly, I was surprised that you don't seem to. I expected you to be a bit more... well... angry. And nobody would blame you for that," he added hurriedly, "But you went out of your way to make sure I didn't ride out to the Lowe ranch with anger at the forefront of my mind. And, while you didn't actually lie to Roy Coffee, you did the next closest thing. All to make sure Ed Lowe was released. Why?"

"Well, Mr. Cartwright," Candy said slowly, leaning back in his chair, "'Way I see it, he was only dangerous to me because he thought I was going to kill his son. And, for the record, the thought _did_ cross my mind a time or two. So I can't exactly hold that against him."

He got up and relocated to the chair in front of Ben's desk before going on.

"Now he knows I'm not going to hurt Randal, he's got no reason to want me dead. An' I don't think he's the kinda man to do much of anything without a reason," Candy said.

"He still tried to commit murder. If you weren't the fighter you are, he would have succeeded," Ben pointed out.

"Yes," Candy agreed matter-of-factly.

"Don't you think he should pay for that?" Ben asked.

"Mr. Cartwright," Candy sighed, "It seems to me that people tend to let the word justice get in the way of the facts. And the fact is that Ed Lowe isn't a threat to me or anybody else. I know you to be a good judge of character, an' I don't believe you'd have been friends with Ed Lowe for so many years if he tended to fly off the handle and try to kill people at the slightest provocation. Maybe Randal exaggerated our conflict so he wouldn't look foolish to his father. Maybe I look a lot scarier than I am. Maybe Mr. Lowe had a bad week. Whatever the reason, I don't think he'll do it again. Not to me or to anybody else."

"And you base this conclusion on the fact that he's my friend?" Ben inquired.

"I do," Candy said.

"Candy..." Ben shook his head, "Attempted murder is still-"

"Attempted murder," Candy interrupted, "I was there. Believe me, I know."

"And you're not angry about it?" Ben asked.

"Are you kidding?" Candy scoffed, "I'm furious. But that's no reason to hang a man."

Ben frowned deeply. It seemed to him that letting a man off the hook for what Ed Lowe had tried to do to Candy was a mistake. But Candy was old enough to make his own decisions, and his decision in this case seemed to be to let a would-be murderer go free on the basis of his being a friend of Ben's.

"I don't agree with you."

"'Way I see it, there's not much you can do about it," Candy said, "Unless you want to fire me."

"The only thing that would accomplish would be my losing one of the best ranch hands who's ever worked for me," Ben pointed out after a moment's thought, "And I don't see that you should be punished for something that was done _to_ you, even if you don't appear to want justice for it."

"Sometimes the right thing to do is the wrong thing," Candy told him.

Ben shook his head, "You know, Candy... sometimes I don't understand you."

"Funny," Candy remarked, with a lopsided grin, "Joe said the same thing to me earlier today."

* * *

In the morning, several of the local ranchers -including the Lowes- showed up to see the results of the test. Ben led the way around behind the barn to the corral where they'd left the dog. Candy was already there, perched on the fence and looking very pleased with himself.

It was soon obvious why.

The calf was lying down, very much alive, and the dog had curled his body around it protectively. Seeing Liam, whom he seemed to have accepted unreservedly as his new master, the dog yawned widely, licked the top of the calf's head as if to wake it, and stood up. He stretched fore and aft, then strolled over to the gate. He stood quietly for a moment, waving his low-held tail slowly. Evidently deciding he wasn't going to be let out, the dog nosed the gate latch and pushed it open, then trotted purposefully over, sat directly in front of Liam and gazed up at him with loving trust.

"Proof enough for ya?" Candy inquired of the gathered crowd.

There were some assorted murmurs, generally of reluctant assent. Liam knelt before the dog and grabbed his ruff in both hands affectionately.

"Well, looks like you've got another dog on your hands, big brother," Randal remarked, "What're you gonna name this one?"

Liam looked up at his brother, then at the rest of his family, the Cartwrights and finally smiled at Candy, whose clever idea had allowed him to keep the dog he'd already fallen in love with.

"I think," he said, looking back at the dog, "There's only one thing I could possibly name him."

"Oh?" Randal asked, "What's that?"

"Lobo," Liam replied, "I'm gonna call him Lobo."

Candy laughed. After a moment, everyone else seemed to get the joke, and there was laughter all around. It was quite awhile before the laughter subsided.

"C'mon, Lobo," Liam said, standing, "Let's go home."

The dog immediately fell into a Heel position and Liam started to go, but then turned back.

"Thanks, Candy," He said, then glanced at his father before looking back at Candy, "For everything."

"That goes for all of us," Randal put in.

Candy just smiled and said, "Don't mention it."

* * *

 ** _Author's Note:_** _ **Hope you all enjoyed the story (and this final chapter), thanks for reading (and reviewing), goodnight everybody.**_


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